Alternate Season 5: 5x04: Beautiful
by Colinsand
Summary: Picking up from "Bullet's" cliffhanger both Fred and Angel are in a dire situation. The team desperately search for a way to save Fred. Meanwhile Lorne uncovers a threat to the city.
1. Overture

AN: This is the forth episode of my alternate season 5, as such it does follow on from the previous three, so it might be an idea to read those first. This one in particular is part two of a two-part story.

Thank you to everyone who's reading, and those of you who are leaving comments. I'm kind of disappointed with the low number of review for the last episode, love it or hate it, let me know, reviews are very much appreciated.

**OVERTURE**

There was not a single cloud in the beautiful blue sky.

Standing at the top, looking down the lush green slope, Wesley took in the wonderful sight before him.

The gentle slope of the hill led down to a flat patch of vibrant green grass interspersed with sunshine-yellow buttercups and daisies. A crisp stream flowed, the water ambling by, in no hurry to pass through this glorious landscape.

Down on Wesley's right was a magnificent tree, a monument of nature at its finest splendor. It was strong, all its edges were soft and rounded. The leaves whispered sweetly with the gentle breeze.

The air was so amazingly fresh and clean. Each breath of it invigorated and cleansed.

In the patch of shade cast by the tree Wesley saw the one thing that made this vision of perfection complete.

She was sitting on a bright red blanket looking across the stream. She was gazing upon a mother deer, its coat a wonderfully warm shade of brown, leading its child to the stream. The young deer was reluctant at first, unsure. As it approached the water it paused, glancing back at his mother for reassurance. Then he proceeded; gracefully he stooped and flicked out his tongue. The cool water must have been to his taste for he began eagerly lapping it up. His mother came up beside him and joined him in taking a drink.

Wes looked back at her.

She looked up at him. Wesley started walking down the hill towards her; he couldn't help grinning like a fool. She was beyond amazing. She was everything. Here in this paradise she was still the most beautiful of all things, such a perfect part of this world.

"Wesley," Winifred Burkle smiled as he sat down close beside her.

"Fred," he replied and took her hand in his. It fit perfectly

Fred expression became a frown. "I was lost… My memories… but I remember everything now."

Wesley squeezed her hand. "You had as all worried but…"

"You didn't give up on me. You found a way. You brought me back." Fred returned the squeeze. She was smiling.

"Yes," Wes nodded. "I'm sorry I couldn't figure it out faster, if only I..."

"What's important is I'm alright now, I'm safe. And I'm with you."

"Yes." Wesley looked into her eyes, appreciating completely the woman he had so nearly lost forever. Now was the time. Now was the time to tell her how he really felt about her. "Fred, there's… there's something I've wanted to tell you, something I've wanted to say to you for a long time now."

"I know." Fred's grin widened. She leaned forward and then…

Bang!

The grass was sprayed red. A hole in her forehead.

"No!" Wesley Wyndam-Pryce yelled as he bolted upright. He was sweating, puffing and shaking. "No," he whispered.

It was starting to get dark outside. He had slept all day. He felt exhausted and drained.

Fred was gone.

For now. Not for much longer if he had any say in the matter. He was frustrated that he had wasted so much precious time sleeping.

Already his mind was at work, arranging a plan of attack on the task of finding a way to reverse what been done, to Fred.

Quickly he showered and got dressed

He'd get her back. It wasn't her time. It wasn't fair. No. She had to come back. She had to.

Wesley left his apartment, determined to save her, to return her mind to her body. No matter what it took.

--------------------------

"Mr White?" Derek Fitzimons said, cautiously approaching the man. Derek was a vampire.

Mr White was standing, looking at his creation.

"Mr White?"

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mr White said. The device was cylindrical with both ends tapered to a point. It was around four meters long, silver in color and was being held up off the warehouse floor by a pair of three legged stands, one at either end. A panel in the middle of the device's smooth surface was open. Derek couldn't see inside but there was an unsettling dark blue glow emanating from within. Beautiful was hardly a word he would used to describe it. More like weird. But Derek remained silent in his disagreement.

"You have it?" Mr White spun around, tapping his white dragon-headed cane on the concrete floor.

"I got it," Derek confirmed. He wanted this job done and he wanted to get away from here. From his pocket he took out the object he had been hired to deliver; a small green crystal.

Mr White's dark blue eyes widened and fixed upon the crystal. "Excellent," he smiled. "Give it to me." Mr White held out his left palm, his right hand resting on the cane.

Derek was about to argue that he wanted his payment before handing over the crystal (which he had picked up from a shadowy specialist magic shop at the end of a dark alley) but Mr White's tone and gaze made him rush forward and place the crystal in the waiting hand.

Mr White held the crystal up to the light, gripping it between thumb and forefinger. "Oh yes." His eyes sparkled like a child's on Christmas Day. "Yes, excellent craftsmanship." Mr White smiled at Derek. "In an undertaking such as this true care and attention to detail is vital."

"Yeah," Derek looked around the warehouse nervously. Other than Mr White there was no one else here. The rows of containers suddenly made him feel claustrophobic, even though he, Mr White, and the device were in a large open space in the middle of the warehouse. "Right," Derek found that he couldn't look Mr White in the eye. He was afraid. He began to wonder if twenty grand was worth this strange discomfort.

"You have my thanks." Mr White shifted his hold on the cane, grabbing it a third of the way down it's length. Before Derek could react there was a flash of red from the dragon's mouth.

The vampire instantly exploded into a thin white dust, utterly destroyed.

Mr White turned his attention back to the device. He leaned close to the opening and delicately placed the crystal inside. He then took a step back, admiring his handiwork.

There was a final delivery that was due in a few minutes. Then all that remained was to collect the final component from the arms dealer, Theodore Tramore. And then…

Well, then he'd would be activating the device, and changing the world.

--------------------------

Winifred Burkle was perfectly still.

There was a bullet in her brain.

A bullet that had absorbed all of her memories, everything her brain had learned from the moment of its formation. She retained only the slightest of brain functions, just enough to sustain her vital signs. Other than a head wound she was physically in good health.

In the room next door was Angel. He was heavily sedated, recovering from serious injuries received when he had been thrown through the windshield of a van moving at high speed.

And in a high security room, was the Gunman, the demon that had shot Fred and killed an accountant by the name of Ritchie Evans. The demon was in a healing coma, recovering from multiple gunshot wounds. He was strapped down tightly to his bed, to be extra sure an arrangement of chains were in place to make any attempt at escape impossible if he woke up. His condition was being monitored closely. There were two heavily armed guards inside the locked room, and two more in the corridor outside. The demon was the only solid lead that remained in the investigation into Winifred Burkle's shooting.


	2. Act One

**ACT ONE**

Darkness

He was running, sprinting.

"Angel!"

"Fred!" he responded to her cry. He forced himself to run faster, spurred on by her terrified shout for his help. "I'm coming Fred!" In the far distance there was a white light. It was from that light that Fred called to him, but try as he might, as hard as he ran, the light did not get any closer.

Angel didn't want to think about what horrors she might be facing. He wanted to reach her. He was desperate to save her.

"Angel!" Fred's voice pleaded from the dot of light. "Help me!"

Angel ran.

Dr Kent Hartley pushed the plunger of the syringe, injecting another dose of sedative into Angel's system. A feeding tube was providing his vampire boss with another course of fresh pig's blood.

He looked over Angel's injuries, checking on the progress of his healing. Hartley's right eye was not a normal eye. The ball was a striking violet color, the iris bright yellow, and the pupil in the middle was diamond shaped.

Dr Hartley had been born with this peculiarity. The eye allowed him to see in a far wider visual spectrum that a human eye. This provided him with x-ray vision in that eye, a very useful tool for a physician. Hartley's great-grandmother (on his mother's side) had been a demon. While his mother had shown no physical indications of her demon heritage Kent's demon genes had surfaced in the form of his strange eye. Other than the eye he was completely human.

Using his demon-eye he observed Angel's injuries.

Satisfied that they were healing as expected, meaning he would be able to allow Angel to wake up in a few hours, Hartley moved on to his next patient. As he left the room he checked his watch. Ten minutes until the meeting.

He entered Fred's room. Wesley was sitting in a chair at her bedside. He was holding her hand.

Wes looked up at the doctor. Their eyes met. "How has she been?" Wesley asked.

"Stable, no change in her condition." Hartley picked up her chart. Fred was wired up to a machine that monitored her vital signs, and a brain scanner that they had used to watch the bullet's progress in taking her mind. Hartley noted her vitals and watched the brain scanner monitor for a few moments, confirming that there was no change.

"She's strong. She's a fighter." Wesley had turned his attentions back to Fred.

"She held on as long as she could." Hartley had seen this scene before. Too many times before. Grief was a horrible thing to see someone else suffering.

"She survived five years in a world where humans are treated like cattle. She's a good person." Wesley squeezed her hand, hoping, against the knowledge of her mindless state, that she was squeeze his in return.

Fred did not fulfill his hope. She remained still. Empty.

"The best person," the corners of Wesley's mouth twitched with a half-smile. "And she's going to make it through this."

Hartley remained silent.

"She's going to make it through this," Wesley repeated.

This time, Hartley nodded. "Let's get to that meeting shall we?"

"Yes," Wesley sighed. He looked one last time at Fred. _What are my chances?_ She'd asked. _Chances are good_ he had replied. For her he had to believe that the chances were still good.

Wesley took the seat at the head of the conference table. Attending the meeting were the firm's departmental heads, including Gunn and Lorne, and several other senior staff members. "Let's get through this quickly so we can all get back to work," Wesley said. "Doctor, could you get us started?"

"Right," Hartley nodded. "Since the bullet completed the absorption of Miss Burkle's memories there has been no change in her condition. She remains stable and there are no indications that this situation will change in the near future." Hearing it in such clinical terms still made Wesley uneasy. It was Fred. He was talking about Fred. But he knew that he had to maintain his composure. He was in charge now and that meant he couldn't, not even for a second, show how much this was getting to him. "Currently I am still looking into possible options for removing the bullet should it become necessary to do so. I am hopeful that the fact that it managed to get in there without causing a great deal of damage means that it could be removed without causing further injury to Miss Burkle." Hartley looked around at the faces of everyone in the meeting. They all knew her. They all wanted to save her, but he could tell there were some who were giving up hope. Hartley, being realistic, knew that the chances of Winifred Burkle coming out of this were slim. The doctor looked to Wesley, indicating to him that his presentation was done.

"Charles," Wesley said.

"So far we got nothing," Gunn sighed, the frustration was clearly setting in. "No record of the firm having encountered this bullet technology before. Previous incidents of memory loss recorded by the firm aren't connected, we've thoroughly checked. I'm in touch with other branches, getting them to go through their files. Still waiting on a few of them to get back to me. So far it isn't looking promising."

"Call up the branches that you're waiting on and make sure they understand this is top priority. The LA office has strong influence, use it," Wesley told Gunn. "If they have any problems with that have them call me." Wesley looked next to Wolfram and Hart's head of security. "Mr Gibson, report please."

Jack Gibson was sporting bandages around his head from the previous night's action. "Yes sir. We're continuing to investigate the reasons behind the targeting of Ritchie Evans. So far we haven't been able to pin down a link between him and anything that might lead us to who hired the Gunman. We're going through his file, looking into every client he has had dealings with. Since a large number of them could be described as shady at best it's taking time to get through them and eliminate possible leads. The gun itself is with the science department, as is the bullet recovered from the diner and the bullet that the Gunman took after shooting Evans. So far we have no solid leads on who the Gunman is working for, but I assure you that everything that can be done is being done."

_But it's not good enough._ Wesley restrained himself from saying it. "Science department," he quickly moved on.

In Fred's absence a nervous looking man in his late twenties, called Mathew Lofton, was representing the science department. He spoke quickly. "We are in the process of analyzing the weapon and the bullets. It's taking time but we are confident that we'll be able to figure out how they work. This should enable us to assist the research and medical departments in finding a way to reverse the memory absorption and safely remove the bullet."

Wesley nodded. "My department continues to pursue numerous lines of inquiry. So far we haven't turned up anything helpful." He kept his report short and to the point. He wanted to get back to it. The quicker everyone got back to work the quicker Fred would be back on her feet. "I know this is hard work. Everyone at this firm must be one hundred percent focused on the Burkle case." Wesley paused to make sure that everyone understood. "Okay, let's all get back t…"

"Actually I…" Lorne raised his hand. "I have something I think needs attention." Lorne knew Wesley wasn't going to like what he had to say but he knew it had to be said. "Last night I got a call from an old friend, Michelle. She asked me to meet her about something important. When I reached her someone else had gotten to her first. I…"

"I'm sorry," Wesley interrupted, "but what does this have to do with Fred?" he asked with barely concealed frustration.

Lorne looked Wes in the eyes. "As far as I know, nothing. But before she died she…"

"Lorne, we need to be focused on Fred. Other things will have to wait until we're done. Surely you haven't exhausted your contact list."

"This is important Wes, she was terrified of something…"

"Fred was terrified too. She is the priority. Everything else has to wait. Nothing is more important than Fred."

"I know, but…"

Wesley silenced him with a hard glare. A flash of anger rose within the former Watcher. Lorne should be working on saving Fred, just like everyone else, not helping out old friends. Why was he wasting time on this?

Lorne, flustered and frustrated, could tell that there was no way that Wesley was going to listen to him, he was going to have to find a way to follow up on Michelle's warning himself.

"Everyone back to work," Wesley ordered, bringing an end to the meeting.

Obviously last night's operation hadn't gone to plan. Theodore Tramore hadn't heard from the gunman since he had called to tell him that he was about to make his final move on the target. Evidentially that move hadn't been successful. Tramore hoped that the gunman had been killed, because if he had been captured then Wolfram and Hart would no doubt discover his involvement.

Tramore was considering making a run for it. Flee the city, the country, use his acquired wealth from his years in the arms trade and find a place to hide.

The sound of his phone ringing barged in on his thoughts. Maybe that was them, maybe they were calling him to tell him they were onto him.

Tramore took a deep breath and answered the phone. "Hello, Theodore Tramore speaking, how may I help you?" His voice had a nervous edge to is, with his free hand he twirled a letter opener shaped like a sword.

"Good evening Mr Tramore."

Instantly he recognized the voice. It was Mr White. Of course. He was supposed to be coming here later to pick up his order. "Ah, good evening Mr White."

"I'm just calling to check that my item will be ready to collect tonight as we arranged."

"Yes, I've been informed that the finished touches are being completed as we speak."

"Excellent. I shall be there at ten-thirty precisely."

"Very well, I'll see you then."

Without so much as a goodbye Mr White hung up.

Tramore decided that once the business with Mr White was done he would make a quick escape. An extended break in Australia sounded like a very good idea. With all the stress of dealing with Mr White, and the added problems with the gunman, it was time to get away.

When the lift doors opened Gunn sprinted down the corridor. He was heading straight for the office Wesley had on this floor, right in the middle of the research department. He went straight into the large room without knocking. Wesley and several other employees were hunched over books and papers. The tables scattered around the room were covered in reading materials.

"Wes, we got a lead," Gunn's words immediately got Wesley's attention; he looked up from the text he was studying.

"Tell me," Wes said.

"I got a call from the Moscow branch, they've dealt with our gunman before," Gunn explained.

"His name is Rex. They hired him two years ago to kill a warlock that was causing them problems. They hired him through a middleman. They put me in touch with the guy and I told him we wanted Rex to do a job for us. He told me we're in luck because he happens to be in L.A. We got the address he's staying at."

Wesley took a breath before speaking. It was hardly a solid lead, but with luck something would turn up. "We need to search that address," Wesley said.

"A team's ready to go."

This world needs saving.

Mr White looked around at the other patrons of the bar from his dark booth at the back. When he had arrived his unusual appearance, white suit, white hair and white cane, had attracted brief attention. Now he watched unnoticed.

A group of young men were laughing and talking, sharing a pitcher of some cheap beer. He doubted that their conversation would ever stray far into remotely intellectual territory.

Mr White sipped his scotch, single malt, thirty years old, the most expensive that the bar stocked. White had been surprised to find such good stuff in a place like this.

More laughter. The young men, no doubt, regularly wasted time in such a manner.

A place such as this was full of potential. It could be used for constructive discussion and debate. But humanity made these places noisy, smoky and utterly devoid of any real value to the human race.

Soon places like this would no longer exist. Soon no one would waste time on foolish, pointless pursuits. Mr White was going to save them from their own weaknesses. He was going to save them from chaos and waste.

"Would you mind if I joined you?"

Mr White looked up at his visitor. She was in her early thirties, he estimated, with short vaguely curly dark hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in a long cream colored skirt and a high collared long sleeved green top.

"Not at all," Mr White replied politely. The woman sat across from him, setting her glass of white wine on the table in front of her.

"I'm Katherine."

"James," he lied pleasantly with a smile and shook her offered hand. "What can I do for you Katherine?"

"I noticed you were watching everyone." She took a sip of her wine, savoring the taste of the liquid in her mouth for a few moments before swallowing. "I was wondering why."

"I see," Mr White nodded enigmatically, giving away nothing.

"I'm a writer, I people watch too."

"I am not a writer."

"So why are you watching?"

Mr White considered his response. "I suppose you could say I'm an observer of the human condition."

"Ah, a philosopher then." Katherine smiled.

"Of a sort perhaps." Mr White did indeed consider himself to be a philosopher. All great men were philosophers.

"So…the human condition. What condition are we all in?" Katherine asked.

"A rather dire one."

"Right, wars, famines, terrorists, climate change and god knows what else, the world can be a pretty bleak place."

Mr White nodded. _Indeed it can._ "Worst of all things do not need to be this way. There is so much wasted potential. They waste time, they waste efforts, on frivolous pursuits. Humanity is capable of great things. But instead there is chaos and waste." Mr White looked his companion in the eyes. "There is a better way. It is possible to harness all that potential and channel it into creating order and beauty, into doing great things."

"And how exactly would we go about that?"

Mr White took a sip of his scotch. "Firstly, what is it that causes humanity to so completely fail to live up to its potential?"

Katherine considered the question for a few moments. "I guess…fear. People are so afraid of failure so it's easier to not even try. If you don't try to live up to your potential then you can't really fail."

"Very good. But you're barely scratching the surface."

"Okay…maybe it's because people are too self-centered, selfish," she ventured.

"Precisely." Mr White nodded. "To reach the root of the problem that is the path of thought we must follow."

Katherine didn't know what to make of this man. He was certainly an unusual character. She wondered what sort of story she could write based around him. He had a certain charm, and clearly was very confident and focused.

"People are selfish. Instead of doing what is difficult, what takes effort and hard work, they take easy paths. Through hard work and dedication human potential can be lived up to."

"But surely meeting this potential can't be the only concern. What about happiness for instance?"

"Think of the possibilities. If humanity were to live up to its potential there would be no war, no starving children, there could be cures for disease, science could advance beyond anything that can possibly be imagined now. The scope for the betterment of all is limitless. What could possibly be more important than that?"

Katherine looked into his eyes. They were intense, determined. She began to wonder exactly where this was going. "What about happiness?" She asked again. "Hard work hardly makes people happy."

"You are correct to point that out. It is a fundamental problem. Individuals are so caught up in selfish desires for power, ease, and happiness." Mr White finished his drink. "Which brings us to the root cause, individuality. Individuality is the reason humanity fails to flourish as it should."

"Isn't individuality what makes us human? The greatest examples of humanity are those that display the greatest individuality?"

"Individual only in that they are willing to dedicate their lives to a worthwhile cause rather than wasting their talents. Individuality is the problem."

"Individuality is what makes us human, maybe it's there to stop us advancing too quickly, from making advances we're not ready for."

"I don't believe so. I believe humanity should be free, free from petty, inconsequential concerns. It is utterly irrational for a human to not always act for the maximum benefit of all. Selfishness, driven by individuality, causes the human race to act in an irrational manner. Imagine if everyone on the planet worked in harmony, all playing their part in making this world a truly beautiful place."

"Such a world is impossible. Such a world wouldn't be a human one," Katherine said. "You're talking about a world with no time for tings like fun, like love."

"Yes, I am." Mr White grinned. "A world without chaos, without wastes, without whining, without complaining, without laziness. A world without distraction from great accomplishment and from magnificent progress."

_He's insane_. Katherine realized. _The world he is describing is something that he really wants. He wants this world of his to become real_.

"It will be beautiful."

No, he didn't just want it to be real; he wanted to _make_ it real. Katherine couldn't imagine how this man thought he could achieve this madness. But looking into his fanatical eyes she felt that somehow he intended to put his theory into practice.

"How?" Katherine asked, though she was sure she wouldn't like the answer.

"The first step is to take away the individuality, to wipe the slate clean."

"Wipe the slate clean?

"Return the brain to its original, blank, state."

Katherine's world tilted. She felt utterly lost. How could this be possible? There wasn't a chance this guy could actually do what he was saying…was there? Either way she had to get this guy off the streets, he was clearly mentally unstable. She looked around, wondering what he would do if she got up and left.

"You think I am wrong?" Mr White asked.

"Yes, I think you're very wrong James, very very wrong."

"Why? You cannot deny that the world would be a far better place."

"But it wouldn't be a _human_ place anymore!" Katherine exclaimed.

Mr White sighed. "Katherine you are the seventeenth person I have had this conversation with. I had hoped that before the first phase I would be able to find someone who understands, who can put aside their limited thinking and their irrational emotions." He shook his head. "But is seems that this hope is not meant to be."

"You're crazy. I'm going to the cops, you need help James." Katherine started to rise.

"Do not force me to kill you. If you do I will have to kill all of these people too."

Katherine stopped. The way he said it and the look in his eyes gave her an awful chill.

Mr White took his cane in his hands. "What I shall do tonight will be splendid. A shame you will miss it," he said as he took out a small crystal and inserted it snuggly into the mouth of the dragon's head topping his cane.

Katherine again looked around. She was safe. There were a lot of people around. He couldn't do anything here, he couldn't hurt her here. She was safe.

"Goodbye Katherine," Mr White said, the cane pointed right at her. He whispered something that she didn't quite hear. The crystal in the dragon's mouth flashed dark blue.

A moment later Katherine's eyes also flashed blue.

Mr White stood. He removed the crystal from the dragon's mouth and returned it to his pocket. He then left the bar, disappointed.

Katherine stared into space; her mind completely blank.

Wesley had insisted on leading the team himself. Gunn had wanted to join him but he had decided that one of them should stay behind and make sure the continuing search for leads remained efficient and through.

The address Gunn had provided was that of a magic shop called Rainbow Runes. It looked very 'New Age' from the outside, suggesting the owner was less concerned with the truth of magic than the opportunity for making money from people's willingness to believe in a false version of it.

The strike team quickly got out of the black SUV and began making their final preparations for the raid. There were four men in the strike team, plus Wesley. The strike team members were armed with silenced MP-5s and dressed in full tactical gear. Wesley had on a bullet proof vest and had his pistol drawn.

"Anyone in there is to be taken alive. Shoot only if absolutely necessary and shoot to incapacitate only."

"Yes sir," the strike team commander, call sign Alpha-One, responded.

"Lead the way," Wesley motioned to the door of the shop.

Alpha-One quickly went to the shop's entrance while the other three strike team members covered him, their weapons raised. Alpha-One took out a tension wrench and a hook and quickly started picking the lock. Thirty seconds later the door was unlocked.

The team swiftly moved through the shop. It took less than a minute for them to be sure that there was no one present in the shop, in the back office or in the storage room.

Wesley followed the team in. He looked around at the stock on display: Healing Crystals that were really nothing more than pieces of quartz; Ouija boards; scented candles. Some of the stuff could be used by a practicing magic user, but the context here suggested the owner had no idea about real magic. This troubled Wesley. It didn't make sense since this was suppose to be the location of the Gunman's lair.

"Got something in here!" One of the strike team members called from the storage room. Wesley quickly headed that way, as did Alpha-One, the other strike team members continued looking around the shop for anything that might be of interest.

"What have you found?" Alpha-One asked his subordinate.

"A hatch sir," the man motioned to the floor.

"Open it up," Wesley said. He had a feeling this was it, the demon's lair, where there would be information on who had hired the Gunman, who was truly responsible for what had happened to Fred. Alpha-One quickly opened the hatch to reveal a narrow set of steel stairs leading down into a pitch black basement.

"Ill go first sir," Alpha-One said as he fitted the small torch attachment to his weapon. Wesley nodded. He was eager to get down there and find the information he needed to help Fred. However the strike team leader was better equipped if there was anything dangerous lurking in the darkness. Alpha-One carefully went down in the basement, constantly sweeping his weapon left and right, ready to react to anyone or anything.

Wesley waited impatiently. Every second Fred remained in her current condition could be the difference between her being fully restored to her self and her never recovering.

After what seemed like forever, though was really only a few minutes, Alpha-One shouted, "All clear!" Wesley immediately started descending the stairs, as he did the basement's lights came on, switched on by Alpha-One.

The basement consisted of one large room, the whole size of the shop above. Wesley looked around. The walls ceiling and floor were all bare concrete. There was a large steel framed bed, with no mattress, over on the far wall, directly under the front left corner of the shop. All along the right wall was a massive collection of weaponry: Swords, knives, axes, spears, clubs, maces and other assorted bladed and blunt armaments. He noted that there were no firearms. This suggested that the demon did not often employ a gun in his job, furthering the theory that the gun had been provided by the assassin's employer in order to extract Evans' memories.

Against the left wall was a long workbench. There were various tools at the end nearest Wesley. At the far end was a pair of large glass fronted cabinets. Wesley could see that the cabinets were packed with jar and vials, likely for the mixing of potions and for casting spells. What concerned Wesley saw there was no computer, no phone and no papers in immediate view.

"Get everyone down here. Search thoroughly for anything that could lead us to who hired the Gunman." Wesley ordered. He had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that this was going to turn out to be a dead end.

Wesley and the strike team conducted a quick but careful search of the Gunman's lair. One of the strike team members remained guard at the top of the steel stairs.

The weapons collection proved to be as impressive up close as it had appeared at first glance. Wesley quickly spotted at least a dozen items he knew to be extremely valuable and of the highest quality. The demon was clearly very successful at what he did. A number of the weapons struck Wesley as being unique, he suspected that the demon had made them himself, though probably not here as there was no equipment to melt metal.

The cabinets of ingredients proved to be interesting too. They were everything one would need to concoct all manner of spells useful for an assassin: Flash bombs, mystically triggered detonators, poisons and so on. On one shelf Wesley discovered all the ingredients, some of them very rare, required for a spell to neutralize protective magic.

Ordinarily Wesley could have spent many an hour going through the weapons and supplies, however on this occasion he felt only frustration at the lack of anything useful in the quest to help Fred. After half an hour of searching Wesley was certain that this had been a complete waste of time.

The lair showed that the Gunman was a highly professional individual, it made sense that he would not keep any client information where it could be easily found. It was even possible that the demon had nothing written anywhere and kept all pertinent information in his head.

Wesley went back up the stairs and through to the shop's office. He took a look through the filing cabinets and the drawers of the desk. He found nothing more than accounting papers, stock records and assorted other business related documents. He found nothing about the basement or its occupant. His thought was that the shop's owner was probably being paid a massive sum of money in rent, enough so that no questions were ever asked.

"Damn it!" Wesley exclaimed as he slammed shut the last of the desk drawers and then slumped back in the chair. This had been the most promising lead so far.

He stood and went back down to the basement. "Keep looking," Wesley instructed Alpha-One. "Bring in a couple of people from records and from accounting, have them check the files in the office in case I missed something. And have security send someone to talk to the owner about the basement." Wesley knew that it was unlikely that the files or the owner would be of use, but they needed to be checked to be sure. "I'm heading back to the office now." There was nothing more that he could do here. It was time to get back to his research and coordinating the firm's efforts.

Wesley felt drained. It seemed that no matter how hard he worked or how hard he pushed everyone at Wolfram and Hart no progress was being made at all. There had to be something. There had to be a way,

For Fred.

Alpha-One nodded in acknowledgment of Wesley's orders. Wes went once more up the stairs That final conversation with Fred haunted his thoughts, in the lobby just before she had been shot. If he had just been able to put work aside for a few minutes then she would have been fine, she wouldn't have a bullet in her brain. Added to the fact that he had caused her condition to worsen the guilt weighing down on him was overwhelming.

He exited _Rainbow Runes_ and trued to focus his thoughts on the next step. Wes took out his cell phone to call for the firm to send a car to pick him up. Just as he was about to make the call the phone started to ring. Wes thumbed the answer key and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Wyndam-Pryce," he stated.

The words spoken by the voice on the other end instantly gave Wesley the focus he was looking for.


	3. Act Two

**ACT TWO**

As each moment passed Dr Kent Hartley became more and more convinced that he was correct.

He walked out of the room One of the guards locked the door behind him. There was no doubt about it. The Gunman was coming out of his coma. It would be long now until the Yaksix demon was awake.

Hartley went straight to his office and sat down. He stared at the black phone on his desk. He knew that he had to report this development. However he also knew that it was likely Mr. Wyndam-Pryce would want to interrogate the demon and that in his current mental state it was certain to be an unpleasant experience for the demon.

Dr Hartley felt that the situation should provide him with a rather a lot of moral concern; the demon was after all his patient and his responsibility until he left the infirmary.

But then the demon had shot Fred in the head, caused Angel serious injuries and murdered Ritchie Evens.

Still unsure he picked up the phone. He had to report.

Wesley answered right away. "Wyndam-Pryce."

"It's Dr Hartley. I believe that the Yaksix demon is starting to come out of his healing coma. He could wake up at any moment."

There was a pause. Hartley heard Wesley exhale loudly.

"Understood. If he wakes before I get there I want everything he says and does recorded. What about Fred? How is she?"

"Unchanged. I'm also going to stop sedating Angel. He should come around fairly soon. A couple of hours maybe."

"Good. I'll see you soon." Wesley hung up.

Hartley set the phone back down in its cradle.

He rubbed his eyes. It had been a long hard day and it was far from over. He was still struggling to come up with the surgery to remove the bullet, working with the science and research departments.

Hartley took a few deep breaths and counted to ten to clear his thoughts, and then he got straight back to work.

--------------------------

_He raced along the street, the Harley's engine roaring beautifully._

_He was utterly focused on the mission._

_He called himself Rex when those who employed him required a name. In truth his real name was unpronounceable to humans and most demon species._

_His employer's instructions had been clear and detailed. He was to shoot the target with the provided gun. He had been given a single bullet for the gun. Rex had been told to shoot the target in the head, to retrieve the bullet and return it to his employer. He had even insisted on a very short time-frame._

_He had set up a small surveillance device, protected with a variety of anti-detection spells, to detect when the target left the building. He had decided that attacking the man as he left the building he worked in would be the best way of getting him in the required short space of time. Rex had no qualms against killing a Wolfram and Hart employee. He had good relations with the firm in general, and they would understand fine that he was just doing his job. And he was of course getting a massive payment for his services._

_As he raced towards the building he focused his attention on the target who was standing outside talking to a woman with brown hair. He brought the motorcycle to a stop about twenty meters from the target. He quickly hopped off the bike. The target and his companion had seen him. He had to move quickly._

_The woman started to run away, a wise move. The target soon joined her. Rex pulled out the gun he had been given, as far as guns went it was actually quite a thing of beauty. The target and companion looked back at him and the target froze in fear, giving Rex the perfect moment. He brought up the gun, took aim and pulled the trigger._

_And at the same moment the woman threw herself at the target._

_Rex cursed as they both went down to the ground. He knew that the bullet hadn't hit the target but the woman instead. He knew that he had failed. Rex turned and dashed back to his motorcycle and…_

The Gunman opened his eyes. The dream faded from his mind as he woke.

"How long has he been awake?" Wesley asked as he looked at the demon through the small window in the reinforced door of the infirmary's secure room.

"About ten minutes now," Dr. Hartley replied. He eyed the large metal case that Wes was carrying in his left hand. Hartley had a feeling that he didn't want to know what it contained. "He hasn't said anything but he has tried a couple of times to break free."

Wesley looked at demon. He had taken a few minutes to study up on the Yaksix species. The species had green skin and bony armor plating. They tended to be tall and well built. That was about it, they were rare and few sightings had been documented.

"Get back to helping Fred," Wesley said quietly without taking his eyes off the demon.

Hartley hesitated, his concerns weighing heavy on his mind, before nodding slightly. "I'll keep you informed of any developments."

Wesley felt a torrent of anger and hate swirling inside of him, a fury that ached to be unleashed upon the creature that had hurt her. He wanted the demon to suffer, suffer so much that he would be eager to be dispatched to the eternal horrors of hell.

But that wouldn't help her. There was still hope. This demon represented his hope as well as his hate.

Wesley took a few deep breaths but they did nothing to quell the conflict within.

Time was very much of the essence. Fred's life could well depend on every second that passed. There was no time to calm himself and think things through.

He had to do what needed to be done.

"Open the door," Wesley said to the guards as he stepped back away from the window.

Once the door was open Wesley stepped into the room. "Wait outside. Lock the door. Do not open it unless I instruct you to."

"Yes sir."

Wes stood gazing at the demon as the door was closed and locked behind him, leaving him alone with the prisoner.

The room was about twenty meters square. The walls were clinical white, the fluorescent strip lights were very bright. Centered against the back wall was the bed. In the back right corner was various medical equipment that had been moved there shortly before the demon had woken in order to give Wesley space for his interrogation. Against the right hand wall, just beside Wesley, was a heavy steel chair padded with grey upholstery.

"You go by the name Rex, correct?" Wesley spoke in a loud, confident voice.

The demon remained still and silent, looking up at the ceiling. Wesley repeated the question, and again received no response.

"Stop this silent act," Wesley said.

"Either release me or kill me," Rex finally broke his silence, his gaze still fixed on nothing in particular above him.

"Yes I need to know about the bullet, the gun and your employer. I feel it's only good manners if we know who we are before we begin. My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and I am in charge here."

"Release me or kill me."

"Who employed you to kill Ritchie Evans?"

Silence.

Wesley had hoped that the demon would cooperate, this refusal to talk added fuel to the fire he felt towards him.

"If you answer my questions I guarantee that you will be released unharmed," Wesley kept his cool, reason and calm was likely going to be the quickest route to getting the information he needed.

Rex continued to stare at the ceiling, showing no sign at all that he was paying attention to anything Wesley said.

"If you continue to be uncooperative I guarantee you will not enjoy the consequences."

"Release me or kill me."

Wesley balled his hands in frustration.

"I need the information so I can save the woman you shot by mistake."

"She's dead," Rex said.

"No, she's alive," Wesley hoped to appeal to the demon's honor, to make him see that talking would correct the mistake he had made.

Instead the demon gave him only more silence.

Wesley shook his head in disappointment. Angry. Annoyed. Frustrated. He need the information that the demon possessed.

"Who is your employer?" Wesley demanded. "This is your final opportunity to do this the easy way."

Rex remained still and silent. Finally he spoke again with his stock answer, "Release me or kill me."

Wesley dragged the chair over to the end of the demon's bed and set the case down flat on the seat.

"I was once tortured, purely for fun. I want to make it clear that you can end this at any time by telling me what I need to know. I don't care about you, I don't care what I have to do to you. You will tell me who employed you to shoot Ritchie Evans and you will tell me everything you know about the bullet." Wesley went over and stood above the demon and started into his eyes.

"Release me or kill me," the demon said emotionlessly, holding Wesley's gaze

"Very well." Wesley turned his back on Rex and sighed loudly.

The next thing Rex knew was a searing flash of pain. The human had suddenly spun and plunged the six-inch serrated blade of a black handled hunting knife into his left thigh.

The demon roared and thrashed, straining against the tight straps that held him down. After a few seconds he regained control. The attack had been so sudden, it had taken him by complete surprise.

Rex gritted his teeth and forced himself to calm down, his breaths hissing through his teeth.

Wesley opened the case. From it he took out a pair of red handled pliers. "Let's begin."

Mr White took out his antique pocket watch and smiled. In just less than two hours and forty-five minutes remained until he would be picking up the final component of his device from Tramore.

That gave him time for one last proper look around the place. He walked the streets of downtown Los Angeles, rarely getting a second glance even though he was dressed rather unusually. This was after all LA, unusual was the norm.

As he walked he saw countless examples that reinforced his beliefs. Every man, woman and child was failing to meet their potential. On the global scale the whole of humanity suffered because of such abominable failure. All around was waste. Waste of energy, waste of food, waste of space, waste of time, waste of life itself.

_The world is an ugly place._ Mr White thought as he passed a beggar. _Never again will someone need to beg for money or for food. So close now, so very close._

After tonight the world would begin its journey, the journey to becoming beautiful.

Wesley set the bloody pliers back down in the toolbox. "Understand, I take no pleasure from this," he said to the demon. Wesley remembered with startling detail his own experience at Faith's hands a few years ago. She had relished every moment. For every cut and bruise she had inflicted upon him she had laughed and joked and quipped. She had taken joy in his suffering.

Wesley felt no such joy. As time ticked by he felt frustration, anger and desperation. Whenever doubt about what he was doing crept into his mind he reminded himself that it was all for Fred. He had to do this, there was no other choice.

There was no other choice.

"Is that all you got?" Rex growled.

"No," Wesley replied. "That was just the warm up." He looked down into the tool box and at his hands stained with the demon's green blood.

"Now how about we find a use for these?" Wes turned, holding up a set of six narrow-bladed knives.

Dylan Stewart rubbed his hands together nervously and looked around. He was in a crowded bar, sitting on his own at the bar where he was sipping on a beer.

He had been doing his best to stay in public places since going on the run the previous night. Dylan had allowed himself only a couple of hours sleep since then.

Dylan looked around again. At any moment they could come for him, or worse _he_ could come for him. If Mr White found him Dylan knew that he wouldn't see another day.

He was also deeply concerned about Michelle. They had split up in hope that they would be able to lie low easier while separated. In just over two and a half hours they would be reunited, Michelle had assured him that she would get them in contact with people who could help them and who could put a stop the the horrific evil they had encountered.

Dylan couldn't wait. He was dreadfully worried about her. What if Mr White had caught up with her, what if she had failed to find the aid they needed?

He again looked at his watch, willing for the time of the meeting to stop taking so long to arrive. He took another sip of his beer, Michelle on his mind

Finally Rex unleashed the scream that had been building since the torture had begun.

Wesley again twisted the blade he had embedded in the demon's left thigh.

The scream gave Wes a distasteful satisfaction. At last this was starting to work, he was starting to break the demon. "Say the name of your employer and I will have our medical staff treat these wounds and make the pain go away."

Rex didn't take Wes up on his offer and remained silent.

Wesley twisted again, eliciting a grimace from the demon, and then turned away. He shook his head. While progress was being made it was not moving quickly enough.

Wes reached into the box and pulled out a small MP3 player. Wes double checked that the demon's bonds were secure. He took out a pair of mini loudspeakers. He plugged in the music player, aiming the speakers in the direction of the demon.

Wesley then inserted a pair of earplugs into his ears and put on a set of industrial ear protectors. "Once this begins it will not end until I choose to end it," Wesley said, his voice rather louder than normal since his hearing was now utterly blocked. "One last chance." He stared at the demon's face, looking for any indication that Rex was ready to end this.

Rex looked up at the ceiling.

"Very well."

Wesley pressed play.

Rex jumped and screwed his eyes tightly shut as a painfully loud burst of heavy metal music assaulted him.

The gun was pressed against her forehead.

Angel ran.

The black clad demon had the gun to Fred's head. He had to save her.

"Angel!" Fred cried. "Angel help me! Save me from the monster!"

All the world was shadow except that path of light where Fred and the Gunman stood.

Angel ran, sprinting as fast as he could. But he got no closer.

"Angel!"

"I'm coming Fred!"

"Don't let me die, don't let him kill me!"

Why the hell was this taking so long? Why wasn't she getting closer? He had to save her, she needed him. Angel surged forward. This wasn't her time, not now. Not like this. Not Fred.

And still the distance between then remained. And then...

The Gunman pulled the trigger and the bullet shattered Fred's skull like a sledgehammer hitting a melon. Angel cried out in horror, despair and hate.

Then all returned to black.

"It's like...there's a hole in the world," Gunn sighed.

Lorne looked up from the other side of the desk. The two of them were going through various lists of contacts trying to call in as may markers and chase down as many possible sources of information as they could.

"I know what you mean," Lorne nodded. In front of him was a long list and there was nothing on it that could do any good. Like everyone else Lorne was desperate to find a way to save Fred. But a big part of him felt lost in the frantic nature of everyone's efforts. He was sitting, making call after call after call after call; the result was the same every time, and at this point he was calling people that had no chance at all of providing any useful information. Yet he made the calls anyway, because it was the only thing that he could be involved in the fight for Fred. But in reality he knew that he wasn't doing any actual good.

There was an opportunity to do good though. He could stop making calls and at 10pm he could meet Michelle's contact, find out why she had died and try to prevent more undeserving deaths. But doing that good meant accepting that he was utterly helpless to do good for Fred.

"Wes is torturing the Gunman."

"I know," Lorne sighed.

"Is that what we do now? I mean, I know it's for Fred but..." Gunn searched within. He was torn. It was Fred. The demon had hurt Fred, and that filled him with anger and hate. In some ways he wanted to be in there with Wes, making the scumbag pay. Those urges repulsed another part of him. Torture wasn't what they were about. They bad guys were the ones who let anger and hate drive them.

"But we're supposed to be above that." Lorne shook his head. He felt sorrow at what was happening. Fred just... She was one of the sweetest most downright good people he had ever met. She was warm and so bright with life. The cruel nature of the world they lived in sometimes became near unbearable for him.

"All the time I'm thinkin' if we hadn't signed up here she wouldn't have been hurt, she'd be okay. If we weren't here Wes wouldn't have to..."

"That kind of talk won't do anyone any good," Lorne said. "All we can do is live with what happens here, the roads not taken are forever closed to us."

"I guess," Gunn nodded, though that knowledge didn't stop him from wondering, what if?

Dr Kent Hartley rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the ceiling. Things were moving far too slowly. Every possible solution he thought of to the problem of the bullet only generated a vast array of new difficulties. Eventually he would follow the idea to the end and stop when he reached an utterly insurmountable barrier. Then he started the cycle again.

The biggest problem was that he did not know exactly how to get to the bullet without further damaging Fred's brain. It was slightly out of phase, but he feared that any attempt to move it could still cause damage, or could trigger a shift back to solidity. He needed a way of ensuring that when he tried to removed the bullet it would not cause further harm, if he could not achieve this then there was little point in carrying out the surgery as she would likely be rendered brain dead.

Hartley shook his head. No new ideas were coming to the surface of his mind. He had a horrible feeling that he had exhausted his supply of possibilities. Without some way of controlling the phase-shift of the bullet he was stuck.

The Practical Science Department was working vigorously on the problem, and they were also trying to find a way to reverse the absorption of her memories. The last time Hartley had been in touch with the department they had still been analyzing the gun and the bullet that had been retrieved.

Hartley quickly snatched up a pen and grabbed a piece of blank paper. Taking the assumption that the information about the phase-shift could be acquired he began noting, step by step, the exact procedure he believed would best be able to help Fred. He tried not to think about it too hard as he wrote. He knew that he had good medical instincts.

He knew that if that one problem could be solved everything else would fall into place and he would find a way to safely remove the bullet from her brain.

Fred wouldn't want this. Wesley knew it. But there was no other choice. He had to get the Gunman to talk.

He shut off the music and removed his ear protectors. The demon was trembling, sweating and still staring up at the ceiling. The demon's hearing was probably going to be rather poor for some time. Wesley didn't bother saying anything to the creature. He would ask his questions again when he returned.

With a final look at the creature he was deliberately causing to suffer Wesley left the room.

He went from the infirmary's secure room straight to Fred's room. He sat at her bedside.

"Fred, I'm here."

Fred was motionless aside from the subtle rising and falling of her chest as she breathed. He knew that it was highly unlikely that she was aware of his presence, but he still felt that it was important to be with her, to not leave her alone too long. Every moment she lay here like this, a shell of the girl he cared so much for, was a failure.

Wesley reached out and put his hand on top of hers. "I would do anything to get you back, anything." He meant it. There was no sacrifice that he would not make to save her from this horror that had been inflicted upon her.

Torture was the only way.

He looked at her. She was beautiful even now. For her he needed to do ugly things, he needed to tap into a deeply ugly part of himself. Wesley was certain that she would not be able to be with someone capable of what he was doing in her name. Someone so beautiful deserved so much better than he had to offer.

Wesley sat with her for a few more minutes.

Then he went back to the secure room and resumed his interrogation.

The Los Angeles night remained a dangerous place. Wolfram and Hart's resources were focused on Fred. Unfortunately evil did not rest while the good guys were occupied. Vampires, demons and other assorted ghouls roamed the night as they did every night.

Tobey Macy was having one of those awful awful nights. He had had to stay late at the office, not through any fault of his own but because of someone else screwing-up. He had only moved to Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago for that job and already it was causing him problems. Now he was out, driving in the middle of the night, and he was lost. He had never driven in LA at night before and had swiftly found himself in an unfamiliar neighborhood with no idea how to get back on course for home. He turned a corner. On both sides of the street the store fronts were boarded up, covered with colorful graffiti. This was not where he wanted to be. Up ahead there was the shell of a car, it had clearly been destroyed by fire. Tobey had read all manner of warnings about being careful not to stray in to the wrong neighborhood before coming here. He had thought that such warnings were exaggerations playing to the stereotypical LA image.

He drove at a steady speed. He had no idea which way to go to get away from here and get back to where he wanted to be.

Without warning someone came running out of a building on the left and onto the road. Tobey had no time to react, the car hit the figure hard as Tobey slammed his foot down on the brake pedal.

Tobey released a loud breath as the car jerked to a stop. His heart was going crazy in his chest, he was gasping for air and he was shaking. After a few seconds he glanced in the rear-view mirror. About eight meters back down the street the figure was lying unmoving in the middle of the road.

"Oh god... I just killed someone," Tobey whispered. He started at the body on the road, willing it to move, to show some sign that they were okay, that they were alive, that they hadn't been injured. _Please get up, please get up, please get up, please get up_, he repeated to himself over and over.

The person he had hit did not get up.

He had two options, and neither one appealed to him. He could drive off and hope that he could live with that course of action and hope that no one ever found out what he had done. Or he could go and find out for sure if the person was dead, and if they were by some miracle alive he could try and get them help.

He stared at them as he measured up the two choices.

_What if they're alive, what if they're alive and I can help them?_

_What if they're dead? What if they are dead and you are a killer?_

If they were dead Tobey didn't want to know, to know that he had killed someone... he wasn't sure he could live with that knowledge. But the knowledge that he had left someone that possibly needed his help was also an unbearable thought.

He turned off the engine and got out of the car. He stood still, looking at the motionless body. _Please get up, please get up, please get up, please get up._ Tobey was more scared then he had ever been before. He felt a mighty powerful urge to get back in the car and get away from here as fast as the four-wheels could.

Tobey's guilt wouldn't let him do that.

He took a big breath and took big, confident strides towards the body. _Think positive, maybe they're okay._ Even in his head that didn't sound even remotely plausible.

The body's leg twitched, Tobey stopped in his tracks, the terror within cranked up another notch followed by a wave of beautiful relief. They were still alive. As he stood there thinking all manner of higher powers for this wonderful reprieve from the hell of guilt the individual got slowly up to their feet.

"Hello," a male voice whispered in his right ear.

Tobey nearly leapt clear out of his skin. He spun around and saw a tall muscular man with a hard face and a jagged scar on his left cheek was standing just inches away. Just behind him and to the right was a thin, very thin, woman with very short purple hair and an equally mean looking expression.

Tobey took a couple of steps back, he couldn't fathom how they had managed to get behind him without him hearing them. He quickly put it down to the shock of the accident dulling his senses or something.

"Next time one of you two is playing the victim."

Tobey looked round and saw the man that he had hit was grinning. He was also tall and muscular with a shaved head. His face however drew Tobey's immediate attention. At first he wondered if it might be related to the accident, but he saw no blood and could not imagine anyway that hitting someone with a car could cause such disfigurement. The man's brow was far more pronounced that it should be, the eyes were deeply set. His features were contorted into a permanent snarl.

"What's going on?" He stepped away from the pair that had managed to sneak up behind him. He glanced back at them and saw that their faces too had become disfigured. As they were closer he could see more details. He saw they had shining yellow eyes and... fangs.

Images from countless vampire movies he'd seen came flooding into his mind.

No, vampires aren't real. This is something else. It has to be. Said a logical voice in his mind. Instinctively however he knew that his first intuition was right, they were vampires. As crazy as that sounded these three people were vampires, and they were looking at him in the same way a cat looked at a mouse before killing it.

The three of them started to close in in him.

Tobey sent a stream of mental hatred toward the individual at work who had caused him to be late, and had cause him to be in this ridiculously awful situation.

"Please, don't." He said. Though he knew that they weren't going to listen to his pleas for mercy . He was prey, they were predators. He was their food, they weren't going to show him any more mercy than he showed a cheeseburger. His guilt, his fear, his hope that he could help someone that he had accidentally hurt had brought him here, to his death.

"You three want to be moving along now," a voice loudly called. The voice was male and had a distinctly Irish accent to it. Tobey and the three vampires look to the source of the voice, a figure standing on the roof of a single story building that was once a liquor store. The figure was the strangest sight Tobey had ever seen, and that included the three vampires that were about to descend upon him.

The man leapt off the roof and landed in a crouch. He stood and looked each of the three vampires in the eye. He was dressed in a black and dark green uniform. The pants were black with a strip of dark green running up the outside of both legs. He wore black construction-worker style boots, that had dark green toe-caps. There was a tight fitting open-fronted black leather jacket that two-inch thick zig-zags of dark green going up the sleeves and triangles of dark green at the shoulders. Underneath the jacket was a dark green t-shirt. Right in the middle of the chest was a black five pointed star with the letters D.A in bold purple written in the middle of it. He had short, neat black hair. The upper half of his face was covered by a dark green mask that had rings of purple around the eye-holes.

First vampires, and now some kind of costumed super-hero? Tobey became convinced that somehow this all must be a dream.

"What the hell are you supposed to be?" The vampire that had allowed himself to be run down by Tobey scoffed.

"Last warning, get lost.," the costumed Irishman said confidently.

"Looks like it's two for one tonight boys," the female vampire laughed.

"Alright then, who's first?"

"Me," the female vampire hissed and rushed towards him. She moved fast, unbelievably fast. Tobey watched in astonishment as the Irishman blocked a rapid series of punches directed at his face.

"Let's get him," the bald vampire growled to his companion and the two of them closed in on the Irishman too.

Tobey felt like running away, but somehow he just couldn't take his eyes off the incredible scene unfolding before him. Three vampires and a man in a superhero costume were battling before his eyes, and amazingly it was the costumed man who seemed to have the upper hand, holding all three of them at bay.

The Irishman kicked out, hitting the female in the chest and ducked a punch from the bald vampire before spinning and driving his elbow into the face of the scarred guy. He didn't slow, he didn't miss a beat. Every movement was graceful and perfectly timed to either dodge, block or strike. Tobey was memorized.

Suddenly the scarred vampire staggered back and a moment later exploded into a cloud of dust. Tobey gasped and the other two vampires quickly put some distance between themselves and the Irishman.

Tobey was baffled as to what had just happened, then he spotted the wooden stake in the costumed man's right hand. _He staked him with that_, Tobey realized. Just like the movies, vampires get killed with a stake through the heart.

The two remaining vampires were now far more cautious. Now it seemed the costumed man completely had the upper hand, it seemed to Tobey that he was full in control of the fight.

"Is that all you two can muster? Surely yer not gonna let me kill ya without a real fight now!" The Irishman declared.

The two vampires growled and snapped at him as they lunged into a frenzied attack. The Irishman blocked and dodged, keeping them at bay and not making any aggressive moves himself.

Then suddenly he darted forward, jabbing the stake into the chest of the female vampire. She like scar-face turned to dust. The last vampire again distanced himself from the Irishman.

"Who the hell are you?" The vampire demanded.

"I'm the Dark Avenger, I'm here to clean up this town," the Irishman grinned. "Now get lost and tell your friends if I catch them hurtin' a single soul I'll rain my vengeance upon them."

The vampire remained, looking enraged at the man.

"Go," the Dark Avenger said and gestured.

After a few more seconds of fiery glaring the vampire turned and ran down the street.

"Now, this isn't the kind of neighborhood ya want to be roamin' around in at this hour." The Dark Avenger came over and joined Tobey.

"I...I know, I...I got lost." Tobey was shaking from the shock of it all.

"Well you my friend have the honor of being the first life I've saved as the Dark Avenger. Now let's see if we can get you home then," he said with a friendly smile. He looked back at where he had fought the vampires. "It feels good to be back in LA." He sighed.

Tobey nodded and headed back towards his car.

Dr Hartley winced as he opened the door to the secure room and heard the agonizing groan coming from the Yaksix demon. He saw that Wesley had a hammer in his hand, he'd clearly been using it to beat the tied down demon. Their eyes met. Hartley saw both regret and hate in the man's eyes. He understood what he was going through. The woman he loved, whether he admitted that to her (or even himself for that matter), was as close to death as she could be. He understood that Wesley must be desperate to pull her back from the brink.

"Yes?" Wesley finally said.

"We've made a breakthrough. I think we can safely extract the bullet."

He ran towards the light, the shining light at the end of the tunnel where her pleading voice was calling from. And then...

"Fred!" Angel yelled as he suddenly bolted upright on the bed.


	4. Act Three

**ACT THREE**

"Okay, I want a full update, where are we?" Angel asked from his place at the head of the conference table. The usual gang was all gathered, with the addition of Dr Hartley.

For several seconds no one spoke. It was Dr Hartley who broke the silence in a clear calm voice.

"Significant progress has been made," he said. "Working with the science department who have been analyzing the recovered bullet and the gun I believe it is possible to remove the bullet from Miss Burkle's skull without causing further damage to her. The key to doing this was figuring out the exact phase-shift of the bullet. Now using some highly specialized equipment I believe that I can get it out. The procedure is very risky. By that I mean we're talking about a fifty to seventy-five percent chance that Miss Burkle will die during the surgery. It's something that has never been attempted before by me, and as far as I know by anyone else in the world. It's uncharted territory, so there may be complications that we haven't even thought of yet." Dr Hartley tried to sound as confident as he could. Even though the numbers were daunting he was sure that he could pull it off.

"That's great!" Gunn exclaimed, a grin breaking out on his face. Lorne too smiled and sat back more in his seat. Wes and Angel however did not react to the news.

"What about her mind?" Wesley asked.

It was the question that Hartley had expected from the Head of Research. "Unfortunately we still have no way of restoring her memories. Once the bullet was removed I could wake her, but she would be... a blank slate. She would be like a new-born, needing to relearn everything."

"Until we find away to bring her back there's no point in taking the bullet out," Angel said, he balled his right hand into a frustrated fist.

Hartley looked down at the table, this was the part he had been dreading the most. "Unfortunately in order for her to live at all there isn't going to be a choice for much longer," he said as he looked up at the others.

"What exactly does that mean?" Gunn asked.

"A new problem has developed. I checked on Miss Burkle a few minutes before we got started here, a couple of the science guys were with me and ran a couple of scans on the bullet in her brain. It seems that it is slowly phasing back towards our level of existence, it's becoming solid again. If that happens, it will instantly destroy her brain tissue at its location. The damage will be severe and irreparable in the region that we need if her mind is ever going to be restored."

"How long?" Angel was the first to get to the question that everyone was thinking.

"It's tricky to put an exact time. The best estimate at the moment is around two o'clock, that gives us..." he glanced at his watch, "...about four hours, forty minutes. But that is in no way a definite time, we could have more or less time."

Everyone remained somber and silent for a few moments, taking in the new information about Fred's condition.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work." Hartley said, his part in the meeting was complete and he was eager to get back to doing everything he could to help his patient.

"Sure, let me know if anything changes," Angel said with a nod.

Dr Hartley stood and left the room.

"Okay, we don't have a lot of time, let's get through this as quickly as we can and back to work." Angel was keen to get back into the thick of things. He wanted to find a way that he could help Fred. It bothered him deeply that he had been out of action so long and that he had missed so much. He couldn't believe she was gone. Before being thrown headfirst from the van he had been on a mission to save Fred from losing her mind to the bullet. Now the mission was different. The mission now was to get her back. "What about the Gunman?"

Gunn and Lorne gave Wesley a nervous look. Wesley looked down at the table where his hands were resting. On the back of his right hand was a smudge of the demon's green blood, he focused on it.

"Wes?"

Wesley looked up at Angel. "Yes," he replied. He sat up straight. "Yes. I...I have been interrogating him. So far he hasn't revealed any useful information." Wes looked into Angel's eyes as he spoke.

Angel knew what had been going on. He could tell from the way everyone was acting, and he could smell the scent of the demon's blood on Wesley. This was something that needed to be discussed, but right now there wasn't the time. "Any other leads?" Angel moved swiftly on.

Gunn and Lorne exchanged a look. They had talked earlier and decided what they needed to say at this meeting, with the look they told each other that they were still in agreement.

"We've chased up every possibility and our departments are still at it. But neither of us believe that any good can come of what we are doing." Gunn said.

"We've pushed hard, rattled a lot of cages and committed to a lot of favors and...there is nothing. Not one thing that has turned out to be of use," Lorne continued.

"Right now there is one lead, one hope, and that is the demon that hurt her. Every other lead, every other path, every thread has lead to nothing. Our people are still on it, still searching for that one little scrap that might actually go somewhere."

"Angel, yesterday I go a call from a girl named Michelle, she was a regular back in the days of Caratas. She was desperate and I went to see her."

Angel felt a spark in his chest, angry that Lorne had taken time out from helping Fred to do something else. He pushed the anger back, knowing that Lorne and Gunn wouldn't be saying any of this right now if it wasn't very important.

Wesley said nothing however his hands curled into fists.

"When I got there she'd been...mutilated. She died in front of me." Lorne had clearly been deeply effected by what what he had seen. "She managed a couple of notes and...she knew something. She was terrified of something. Not what had happened to her, but something else. Angel, she didn't have the chance to tell me but I know that whatever she was scared of is something big. Something that means big big trouble."

Angel nodded.

"She told me to go and meet someone at ten-thirty tonight who can tell us what she suffered for."

Gunn took over. "If there is a serious threat to the city then we need to look into it." Gunn was sure that he had made the right decision, but that did little to take the sting out of the idea that he was admitting there was nothing he could do for Fred.

"What happened to Fred is..." Lorne shook his head. There were no words to describe it. "She wouldn't want people to suffer because we were futilely trying to scramble around for some lead that doesn't exist."

"What we are doing has such a small chance of helping..." Gunn added.

"Gunn and I are going to go to the meet, find out why Michelle was killed and what she was so afraid of."

Wesley shook his head. Nothing was worth taking away even the slightest bit of attention away from Fred.

Angel took a few seconds to consider what Lorne and Gunn had said. Fred was in a dire situation, just hours away from being lost forever. Everything and anything that could be done to rescue her was what they needed to do.

But they did have a point, and their thinking was sound. Right now the only shot that had saving Fred was finding out who was behind all of this, discovering who had hired the Gunman to shoot Richie Evans. Just because Fred was down didn't mean that they could ignore a potential threat to the city.

"The two of you go to the meeting. If it turns out to be a wild goose chase you get back to what you've been doing. If it turns out to be something, and if you don't think that you can deal with it yourselves than don't hesitate to come to me." Angel didn't want to risk losing anyone else just because they thought that he wouldn't listen to them if they came to him with a major situation.

"Angel..." Wesley started to protest.

"Wes," Angel silenced him with a look. "We don't have time to debate. Let's go talk to our demon."

--------------------------

Angel and Wesley were outside the secure room of Wolfram and Hart's infirmary. Angel was looking at the restrained Yaksix demon through the window in the room's reinforced door.

"Have you gotten anything from him yet?" Angel asked.

"No, nothing," Wesley replied. He wanted to get back in there and continue the interrogation. With the new deadline he was even more determined to make the demon talk.

"You've been torturing him."

"Yes," Wesley answered. "It's the only way to get him to talk."

"You tried questioning him, tried to persuade him?"

"Yes, he refused to say anything other than that we should kill him or release him." Wesley knew that he wasn't being entirely honest. He could have tried verbal methods of coercion before opening the tool box. But talking took too long. At the time Wes had hoped that the demon would break quickly.

Angel nodded. He continued looking at the demon. He wasn't at all happy about the way that this had played out while he was under sedation. He knew that Wesley had likely allowed his emotions and his desire for revenge to bring him to the conclusion that torture was the way to handle the situation. Angel wondered if he would have done things differently. After a moment's consideration he decided that if he had been the question master and the demon hadn't responded with cooperation then he too would have probably gone down the torture route. He felt uneasy, partly because he wanted to go in there and show the Yaksix true suffering.

"We have to try talking to him again," Angel finally said.

"And if he still refuses?"

"I'll do it. I'll make him talk."

Wes opened his mouth to voice his disagreement but Angel beat him to it. "Wes, your anger and grief is getting in the way."

"And yours isn't?" Wesley wanted to carry on where he had left off. He needed the demon to reveal what he knew right now. Time was so precious.

"Maybe it will, maybe it won't," Angel conceded. "But I'm in charge. It's my responsibility." Angel decided not to add that he could call upon his knowledge from the old days; Angelus had been a master of pain and suffering. Angel therefore would be a more effective interrogator. "It's how it's going to be." Angel's tone made it clear that this was the final word on the matter. "Now let's get in there and try to talk him round."

Wes held Angel's gaze for a moment. He considered arguing. But if he was being honest with himself he had to admit part of his motivation was that he wanted to hurt the creature that had hurt Fred. Instead of arguing he nodded.

Angel signaled to the guard who had gone a respectful distance down the corridor when Angel had asked for some privacy while he and Wesley talked. "Open it up. Lock it behind us." Angel instructed.

"Yes sir." The guard unlocked the door. Angel and Wesley went in. The guard locked the door.

The two of them took up position at the demon's beside. Wesley stood slightly behind and to the left of Angel.

Rex shifted his eyes to look at Angel for a few moments and then looked away, returning his gaze to the ceiling.

"My name is Angel. Last time we met we didn't have the time to properly introduce ourselves."

Rex ignored the statement.

"I'm in charge here. I understand that your name is Rex." Angel spoke calmly and politely. "Our problem is simple. The girl that you shot is still alive. Something went wrong with the bullet. It's still in her head and we need to get it out. She is a friend of mine. A lot of people around here care about her a great deal. If you know how to reverse it's effects then tell us and you will be free to go. If you don't know, then tell us who employed you, so we can find out from them. If you tell us what we want to know the Doc will patch you up and you can be on your way."

Angel and Wesley waited for a response. But none came. The Gunman stared in silence at the ceiling of the secure room.

"Okay, what do you want? Name your price. You know that we have plenty of resources, plenty of cash available if that's what you want. We don't need this to be difficult." Angel ventured. Already he had a strong feeling that this was not going to go well. He understood the frustration Wesley must have felt. The fact that the demon was completely blanking him was enraging. This creature had shot Fred and murdered Evans, and now here he was, refusing to even acknowledge the offer being made to him. "What about employment. Wolfram and Hart can offer you good work, a lot of interesting jobs, anywhere in the world that you want." Angel leaned into the Gunman's line of sight. "Come on, talk to me. What do you want in exchange for the information you have?"

Rex finally shifted his gaze, looking right into Angel's eyes. "Release me or kill me."

"There has to be something you want." Angel insisted. "Wealth, power...tell me what you want." To get the information they needed there was no price that was too high. Angel was willing to give him anything that was in his power to give. For Fred he would give anything.

"Release me or kill me." Rex replied.

Wesley shook his head. This was going as well as his own attempts to reason with the Gunman. As far as he was concerned any further questioning was a waste of time, at least without a bit of encouragement.

"This doesn't have to go on, you can get out of here. We're a law firm, we can get a mystically binding contract. This is a great chance for you. Turn the situation around to your advantage and ask for what you want. Think about this, think carefully about how you want this to go." Angel kept his voice steady.

Rex did not move and did not say anything. Angel had no idea if he was considering the proposal or if he was just plain ignoring it.

"Think about it," Angel said and then stepped back. He indicated for Wesley to do the same.

Angel rubbed the bridge of his nose with the thumb and index finger of his right hand.

After a short time Wesley got his attention and gave him a questioning look. Angel shrugged.

Angel wanted to take some time to think about how to continue this. He wasn't ready to visit the dark territory of torture just yet.

"Talk!" Wesley suddenly shouted at the demon. "Talk or I'll..."

"Wes." Angel cut him off. He then moved back into Rex's line of sight. "I'd rather not have to hurt you but if you force my hand I will."

"Release me or..."

"Come on!" Angel exclaimed. "Get this over with. Tell me the information I need. Do the right thing. Make the right decision. Tell me what you want , and tell me about your employer."

Rex remained silent.

Angel kept pressing on. He tried various angles of persuasion. All were met with silence or occasionally with "Release me or kill me."

Eventually Angel admitted the inevitable.

"Okay. Have it your way," he said to the Gunman. He turned to Wes. "Go check on Fred." Angel didn't want him to be here for any of this. "I'll come find you when I'm done."

Wesley nodded and without saying anything more he left the room.

Angel took a few moments to compose himself and gather his thoughts. He reflected on what he was about to do.

Then he set his jaw determinedly and stepped towards the demon.

--------------------------

Gunn looked at his watch and sighed. There was about forty minutes to go before the meeting, which meant there was around twenty minutes remaining before they had to get going. He looked back down at the list of numbers and picked up the phone.

"We're doing the right thing," Lorne said from the other side of the desk where he had just put the phone down after another fruitless call.

"I hope so," Gunn nodded and dialed the next number.

Wesley turned the page of the tattered hardback he was reading. It was yet another book on memory spells. He still hoped that he might find something of use. He was sitting beside Fred's bed.

He glanced over to her. So peaceful. Looking at her you'd never know that she was so close to death.

There was still time to save her. Wesley hadn't even considered the possibility that they would fail to get her back. He vowed that once she was back on her feet he would not waste anymore precious time, that he would tell her exactly how he felt about her.

He had no idea if Angel was making progress. All he could do was wait and hope.

Wes turned his attention back to the book. Keeping busy.

--------------------------

The closer the time of the meeting got the more Dylan Stewart's anxiety got to him.

He was again sitting at a bar, however he had moved to a different establishment. Dylan had thought that someone, a rough looking man with an expansive bush of a beard, was watching him. Dylan had slipped out when the man had his back to him and had come here. This bar was closer to the apartment where he was meeting Michelle anyway.

Dylan looked around at the crowd, searching for anyone acting in a suspicious manner towards him. After a few minutes he was satisfied that no one was paying him the slightest bit of attention. He turned back to his drink. He had decided against having more alcohol as he needed to keep a clear head. He had a glass of lemonade in front of him instead.

Again his thoughts went to Michelle. What if she didn't show? What if something had happened to her? He shook his head and gulped down half of his lemonade. She was fine. He assured himself that everything would go to plan; Michelle would bring help and while those people dealt with Mr White he and Michelle would leave Los Angeles, never to return.

Dylan smiled as he remembered all the romantic plans he and Michelle had made. Michelle wanted to leave the United States altogether and go to New Zealand. Dylan had agreed that it was a good place for a fresh start. Then they had talked about maybe getting married. Having a proper home. Maybe having a couple of kids. He had told her about a job he had heard about that would get them the money they needed to fulfill their dreams. They had taken the job.

Now Dylan wished that they hadn't. The job had led them here; on the run from a powerful madman.

Still, once this was over maybe they would have that fresh future they had wanted. Dylan hoped so.

First though they had to make it through the night. He looked around again. He wondered if he was being too paranoid. Then he remembered exactly who it was that he was hiding from. In comparison to the catastrophic horror of Mr White finding him being excessively paranoid was by far the more favorable option.

Dylan couldn't wait to be back with Michelle. He was desperate to hold her and tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to see her beautiful smile. He wanted to look into those gorgeous eyes and tell her that he would be with her forever.

Not long now until he would make that desire a reality. The meeting was less than half an hour away.

--------------------------

The door burst open. Wesley looked up from his book.

It was Angel. He had green demon blood splotched all over the front of his shirt and a spot of it just above his right eyebrow. He looked utterly exhausted; both physically and emotionally drained.

"He cracked."

Wesley got up to his feet, the book dropped to the floor.

"It was Tramore, the arms dealer. He hired the Gunman," Angel said. "Get a team ready. I'm gonna clean up, we leave in ten minutes." Angel turned to leave. "Oh, and make sure the helicopter is ready to take off to get us there," he added.

Wes stood still. Finally it was time for action, and finally Wesley had a solid target for the anger within him. He took one last look at Fred and then dashed out of the room.

--------------------------

Dylan was nervously watching the door. He was sitting on the sofa in a small three-room (living room/kitchen, bedroom, bathroom) apartment five minutes walk from the bar he had been hiding at.

The apartment belonged to a friend of Michelle. She knew for a fact that the owner would be away. Dylan knew how to pick locks so getting in had been no trouble.

He had taken a circuitous route to get here and was certain no one had followed him.

He looked at his watch. It was exactly ten thirty Michelle should be here at any moment.

Dylan imagined seeing her, a couple of hero-types in tow. He was sitting on the edge of his seat. This was what he had been waiting for all day. It was time to be with his beautiful love.

One minute past. Where was she? Dylan chuckled lightly to himself. She was only a minute late. A minute was nothing.

As he sat he unconsciously fiddled with his watch. He sat up straight as he heard footsteps in the hall outside the apartment. He was ready to leap up the moment the knock at the door came.

But no knock came. He heard nothing more from out in the hall. It must have been someone else. He sat back. Looked at his watch.

Two minutes past. He told himself to stop being so edgy. She would be here. She was okay. He knew that she was okay. Michelle was only a couple of minutes late. A couple of minutes meant nothing.

Finally after four and a half minutes of unbearable tension:

Knock knock.

Dylan bolted up and dashed across the room. He quickly unlocked and flung open the door.

"Michelle..."

--------------------------

"Time to go our separate ways" Michelle said.

They were standing facing each other in a dark and empty alleyway.

Dylan nodded. He didn't want to be parted from her but he knew that it made sense. They were both in such terrible terrible danger.

Their hands were interlocked, holding tight.

"So I'll see you at the apartment tomorrow night, at ten thirty."

"Ten thirty." Dylan agreed.

"And tonight I'm going to get in touch with an old friend who knows some people that can help put a stop to him. Then I'll lie low."

"Be careful."

"You too. Be very careful. If he finds us..."

"He won't. We'll be careful, we'll keep our heads down. We'll make it."

"We will," Michelle said with a smile. "I love you so much Dylan."

"I love you."

They held each other close. Both frightened of what they knew, both certain of what they had to do.

"You are my world," she whispered in his ear. "Everything."

Dylan tightened his arms around her. "We are forever."

Then it was time to go.

They parted, and smiled at each other.

"My handsome boy."

"My beautiful girl."

They held onto the moment.

"See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. Stay safe."

"You too."

Michelle and Dylan turned away from each other and walked in opposite directions down the alley.

Just before exiting from the alley they both turned and gave each other a farewell wave.

--------------------------

"Michelle..."

It was not Michelle at the door.

Dylan's eyes went wide and he staggered back. "No." Mr White had caught up with him and sent these two guys after him.

"Wait," Lorne said and took a step forward. Dylan took two steps back, a look of sheer terror on his face. "Michelle sent us."

Dylan froze. He looked at them, his eyes flicking between them. He took a few deep breaths. Where was Michelle? She was supposed to be here. Who were these people?

"Michelle sent you?"

"That's right." Lorne nodded. Images of her from the motel room flashed through his mind. Blood. Her hands and feet laid out neatly on the bed. Her aura of horror and fear.

"Can we come in?" Gunn asked.

Dylan spent a few more seconds eying them suspiciously before nodding and waving towards the living area. Lorne and Gunn went in and sat on the sofa. After closing the door and locking it Dylan sat in a tattered armchair. "My name is Charles Gunn and this is Lorne," Gunn introduced.

"Where is Michelle?" Dylan's nerves had actually gotten worse, which a few minutes ago he would have said was impossible. "Where is she?"

"Michelle called me last night asking me to meet with her," Lorne said. He had no idea how to approach this. The man was obviously very attached to Michelle. He wasn't sure how to break the news of what had happened to her.

"And? Where is she? Why isn't she here?" Dylan felt a black dread slowly solidifying in his heart.

"What's your name?" Lorne asked him.

"Dylan," he answered sharply. "Tell me, where is she?"

"Dylan," Lorne began and leaned forward. "I'm just going to have to say it."

The dread expanded into outright fear. "Tell me."

"Michelle is dead."

Lorne continued to speak but Dylan heard none of it. All he heard was that his true love was gone. He sat back and stared off into the distance The fear was gone, replaced by black emptiness. _We are forever._

"Dylan," Gunn said. There was no response at all from the man. "Dylan," he repeated and reached out and put his hand on Dylan's shoulder. After a few moments Dylan looked at him expressionlessly. "Dylan I know, it's... it's terrible but we need to talk about what you know."

"Terrible?" Dylan shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter.

"Sing," Lorne whispered.

"What?"

"Sing. A couple of bars. Anything. Please." Lorne implored.

"Give it a try," Gunn urged.

Dylan's eyes were focused down on the floor. Lorne was about ask again when in a soft, quiet voice he sang 'Hey Jude', the same song Michelle had strained to sing as she died. It must have been their song.

"Okay." Lorne nodded. Dylan looked up and stopped singing. "Dylan, I need you to listen to me. You need to tell us everything you know. I read from you that there is something very evil going to happen, that the lives of everyone in the city are on the line."

"It doesn't matter anymore," Dylan sighed.

"It matters now more than ever. Michelle died for this. She used her final breaths to tell me to meet you so that we could stop what's coming."

"She's supposed to be here. We're supposed to be forever."

"Believe me. Michelle felt the same way. I felt that she was thinking of you, that she loved you deeply. The best way you can honor her, to make her death mean something, is to finish her mission."

Dylan held his head in his hands, the heals of his hands against his eyes. Finally he looked up and nodded. He spoke in a flat, emotionless tone. "We took jobs as lackeys for this guy. The money was fantastic, and the work was nothing difficult. Most of it was just errands, pick-ups and deliveries. My grandmother was a witch, she taught me a few basics. I figured out that the guy we were working for was preparing for some massive piece of magic. I did a bit of reading and found that a lot of the stuff we were handling was associated with magic relating to the mind, specifically to memory and mind control."

Gunn and Lorne shot each other a look. Memory. That was some coincidence.

"Last night we got a warning from one of the other guys. We were told that the boss was killing everyone connected to the project. He told us that he had learned exactly what our employer is up to."

This was it: The part that Lorne and Gunn had come to hear.


	5. Act Four

**ACT FOUR**

"His name is Mr White, and he wants to make the world a more beautiful place. He believes that humanity is a mess of chaos and waste and that all people are weak. According to him our weakness comes from our flawed natures, so he wants to change our nature. Mr White is going to destroy the minds of every individual in Los Angeles and them re-program the blank brains with his orders. He will repeat this process in more cities until he has amassed the resources to enact his final move; taking away the individuality of every human on the planet and create one massive, ordered mind, with himself at the center of it all, of course. He will have the most powerful and expansive mind ever to exist, able to harness the true potential of all humanity to advance the species, bringing about perfect order, perfect cooperation towards magnificent progress. Once united humanity could achieve its true potential."

"That's crazy." Gunn shook his head.

"But he is going to do it tonight," Dylan said. "He has been working in this for a long time."

"When? How? Where?" Lorne asked."

"All I know is it'll be tonight sometime. He has built a device packed with all kinds of powerful magics, once it is completed he will use it. The where is a serious problem. The guy that warned us said that Mr White has moved his project, that the building where we all worked has been completely abandoned."

"What happened to the guy that warned you?" Gunn asked.

"He ran. Last thing he said was that he was leaving the city. Me and Michelle... we... we decided to stay and try to find someone to stop Mr White."

"How are we going to find out where he is?" Lorne pondered aloud.

"I have no idea, When I last saw her Michelle didn't know either. But she said that we had to try. We had to at least try."

"We should get back to the office, get people on this." Gunn said. This was not good news at all. A threat like this meant they would have to take a lot of resources away from trying to save Fred.

"Office?" Dylan raised his eyebrows.

"We'll explain on the way." Lorne stood, so did Gunn.

Dylan hesitated. They had never planned to do anything more that tell the good guys what was happening so they could stop Mr White. They hadn't intended to play an active role in going up against the powerful villain.

But not all those plans were gone, destroyed when Michelle had been caught and killed. He wanted to ask about how she had died, and he wanted to see her body. These people could probably give him those things, though he was afraid too. What if she had suffered? What if she wasn't even recognizable? The future he had planned for was gone. He was struggling to accept that he would never be with her again. Ever. All Dylan had left now was that Mr White needed to be stopped.

Dylan stood. "Let's go."

--------------------------

The helicopter landed gracefully outside the front of the headquarters of Tramore Arms. Angel and Wesley quickly got out followed by a squad of four members of Wolfram and Hart's tactical unit.

"Secure the exits, we're going in," Angel ordered.

Angel opened the door. He and Wesley headed for Tramore's office. Angel noted that there was no receptionist.

A swift kick to the door smashed it off it's hinges. Angel and Wesley entered the office and were brought to an abrupt halt.

"Dammit," Angel hissed.

On the floor in front of the desk was Theodore Tramore. He was lying face down in a pool of blood. The scent filled Angel's nostrils, the eternal hunger stirred within. He ignored it as always. Angel could tell that the man was still alive, but only just.

Wesley looked at the man. He felt hope fading away. This was their only lead, their only chance at saving her.

Angel moved in quickly. Carefully he turned Tramore over, revealing the source of the blood; a deep puncture in the abdomen, He was minutes away from death at best. The man was unconscious. Angel used his left hand to put pressure on the wound.

"Tramore!" Angel yelled in the man's face, desperate to rouse him.

Wesley pulled out his radio and called for a medic.

"Wake up!" Angel gently slapped Tramore on his pale face with his free hand.

Theodore Tramore's eyes snapped open. He saw the face of Wolfram and Hart's CEO looking down on him and knew that the game was up. He felt a warm wetness and dull pain from his abdomen. He was very aware that he was dying. His breaths were shallow.

"Tramore, can you talk?" Angel demanded.

Tramore's mouth worked, opening and closing soundlessly, his eyes wide. Finally in a hoarse voice he spoke. "I...I...He s-stabbed me."

"I noticed. Help is on the way," Angel reassured. In truth there was no helping the man. "We need to talk about the Gunman you sent to shoot Ritchie Evans." Angel kept his voice calm; he needed to keep a cool head despite this unexpected turn of events. He needed to focus on getting the information they needed. "Specifically I need to know about the bullet."

"He wasn't supposed to hit the girl," Tramore puffed.

"But he did, and now that bullet is killing her!" Wesley growled.

"Wes, check the desk." Angel said over his shoulder. "The gun Tramore, the bullet. How can the effects be reversed?"

"He was meant to hit the accountant, he was meant to get the information," Tramore babbled, "Barron Industries."

Angel recognized the name. It took him a moment to place it. It was an arms manufacturer that was a client of Wolfram and Hart. Suddenly it came together in Angel's mind.

"Evans was the accountant for Barron," Angel said.

Tramore nodded. "W-we were scared y-ou were going to give them the con-tract. If you were going t-to do that E-Evans would know."

This had all been about some damn arms contract. Now they knew why this had all happened. But that wasn't what Angel needed from Tramore. "The bullet! How do we get the girl's memories from the bullet and back into her brain?"

"I...I..." Tramore winced and gulped loudly. His eyes fluttered.

Wesley was looking through the desk, but most of his attention was on the exchange between Angel and Tramore.

"Focus, come on Theodore, stay with me here." Angel urged. "Come on!" He again gave the man a gentle slap on the cheek. Tramore returned his gaze to him. "How do I get her back?"

"I...I have no idea." Tramore exhaled.

--------------------------

_Ten minutes ago.._.

There was a sharp double-knock at the door. Theodore Tramore knew who it was. It was exactly half past ten.

He took a deep breath and did his best to settle himself. "Come in," he called.

Mr White came in and briskly closed the door behind him. Tramore motioned to the chair across from his desk, the chair Angel had been sitting in the previous night.

"I'll stand thank you," Mr White said. He spoke with a soft voice, each word precisely pronounced.

_Standing so he can look down on me _Tramore thought.

"Have you managed to retrieve the bullet yet?"

"No, unfortunately I have lost contact with the individual I employed," Tramore said.

"I see. No matter. I would like to conclude out business now."

"Uh, yes, yes so would I." Tramore was deeply annoyed at the demon he had hired. The demon had failed to do the job which could end up costing him a great deal of money. The weapon had been part of Mr White's payment. Included in the use of the weapon was that Mr White would extract the information from the bullet. Now it seemed he would never get the information he wanted.

"Do you have the item?" Mr White asked.

"Yes, right here." Tramore patted the top right drawer of his desk. "Do you have the last installment of our fee?"

"Of course," Mr White took an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and tossed it onto the desk. Tramore snatched up the envelope and tore it open. He leafed through the thick wad of cash. Tramore nodded. Satisfied. From the drawer he pulled out the item, manufactured to Mr White's specifications. It was a silver sphere, slightly larger than a golf ball.

Mr White smiled and held out his hand. Tramore got up and walked around the desk. He was annoyed that Mr White felt the needed this little display of power. He placed the sphere in Mr White's palm.

Mr White examined the sphere closely, turning it over in his hands and eying it closely. Finally he nodded his approval. "An excellent job."

"Then I think that concludes o..."

Mr White interrupted him by swiftly stabbing him in the abdomen with a blade that popped out of the dragon's head on his cane. "Yes, I believe is does." Mr White retracted the blade back into the cane.

Tramore glared at him with a mix of shock and anger.

"Goodbye Mr Tramore."

Mr White turned.

"You...you..." Tramore gasped as he fell to his knees. He collapsed onto his front as Mr White left, closing the door behind him.

Mr White had a wide grin on his face. He now had in his possession the final component for his beautiful device.

--------------------------

"You must do!" Angel shook his head. "The Gunman said you gave him the weapon."

"T-that's true." Tramore nodded once. "But I-I-I...I was given it by a client. Mr...Mr White."

"Where can I find this Mr White?"

Tramore grimaced. Angel could tell it was almost over. "Track-er..." Tramore had concealed a small tracking device within the sphere. It had been very cunningly hidden within its workings. He regularly did this in order to keep track of what his clients were up to. Such knowledge could easily be useful one day. "F-frequency. On. Desk." Tramore sighed and then went still.

"He's dead." Angel said. This lead was supposed to have been it. Tramore was supposed to have told them how to save Fred. Now they had another individual to track down.

Wesley shared Angel's frustration and disappointment. Though he felt a guilty gladness that the man responsible for what he happened to Fred was dead. He looked down at Tramore's body. He was the man who had given the order that had resulted in Fred getting shot and Ritchie Evans getting killed. So with Tramore and the Gunman taken care of then there was only one person left; the one who had provided the weapon.

"Have you found anything?" Angel brought Wesley out of his thoughts.

"Not yet," Wesley's eyes scanned over the desk. There were various neatly arranged papers, a computer and various items of stationary. Wesley started to go through the papers. Finally he found a printout of the specifications of a firearm sold by Tramore Arms that had a set of numbers scribbled on the back. "I think I've got it."

"Back to the office," Angel said. The plan was simple: Get the equipment they needed to get a fix on the tracking device then follow it to Mr White.

--------------------------

Gunn was driving, Lorne was in the passenger seat and Dylan was in the back behind the driver. They were heading to the Wolfram and Hart offices.

Dylan was lost in thoughts of Michelle. He thought about the future together that had been stolen from them. He remembered moments with her, happy times, funny times, beautiful times. There would never again be moments with her.

Quite simply Mr White had destroyed his life. In the emptiness inside Dylan a small but powerful ball of pure hate appeared.

"We should call Angel, let him know we have a big situation," Gunn said.

Lorne nodded. "I know." They both knew that the consequence of such a phone call would be that Fred would have to wait, that Angel would have to change focus to stopping Mr White rather than helping Fred. Both Gunn and Lorne had known that their decision to follow up on Michelle's plea for help could lead to losing Fred. Now that there was a confirmed threat most resources would have to be taken away from Fred, further reducing her chances of being saved.

Save the city or save Fred. The choice was devastating.

Both Lorne and Gunn hope that they could achieve both before Fred's time ran out.

Lorne took out his cell phone and dialed.

"Angel, we have something big," Lorne said as soon as Angel answered.

--------------------------

Tobey Macy was at home at last. He was in the shower, reflecting on what had happened. When he had arrived home he had held his wife tight and told her how much he loved her.

The Irishman that called himself the Dark Avenger had saved him from those...vampires. He struggled to comprehend that vampires were real. Maybe it had been some kind of stunt, or some kind of special effect. Maybe in a couple of weeks there would be a TV show or movie called Dark Avenger or something like that.

Deep down he knew that it had all been real, but he didn't want to dwell on those thoughts. Because if vampires were real then who knows what other monsters might be real.

He was home safe and he was alive. He owed the Dark Avenger his life.

--------------------------

Angel's phone rang. He took it out and plugged it into his headset, so he could use it over the noise of the helicopter, before answering. It was Lorne.

"Angel we have something big," Lorne said.

"How big?" Angel felt a huge weight of dread take hold of him. A major crisis now was the last thing that they needed, especially since they had to chase down Mr White.

Wesley could tell by the expression on Angel's face that the news wasn't good, as the conversation went on he became more and more anxious.

"Really big. A Mr White is planning to..."

"Wait," Angel interrupted. Had he heard right? "Say the name again."

"Mr White."

"Lorne, Mr White is the name of the guy who made the weapon that hurt Fred."

"Really? That's..."

"Right, we're heading back to the office to pick up some equipment so we can track him down."

"We're on our way back now too."

"Good we'll meet up and put together what we know."

"Okay, see you there." Lorne said. Angel hung up, disconnected the phone from the headset and put it away.

"What's happening?" Wesley asked.

"Lorne's emergency and what happened to Fred are connected. Mr White has some big plan for tonight." Angel was relieved that they would be able to get two birds with one stone on this one.

Wes was delighted that the mission had not deviated away from what they needed to do to save Fred.

--------------------------

Kent Hartley was certain that he was fully prepared. All of the equipment was set up, the operating theater was ready, as was the doctor who was going to be assisting him and the nursing staff.

In his mind he played over every movement of the procedure. The slightest mistake would result, at best, in permanent brain damage for Winifred Burkle. Time was running out for the girl though. In a few hours he would be performing the surgery, whether her mind had been restored to her or not.

With the bullet successfully removed there would likely be nothing stopping her from being woken up, from her brain starting anew. Winifred Burkle would for all intents and purposes be dead, for the newborn would not be her. The life of a newborn in an adult's body would not be an easy one, but Hartley was determined not to let life slip away. Either Fred would be restored or there would be a new person born from what had happened.

Either way the surgery was still going to be extremely tricky.

--------------------------

The meeting had taken only a couple of minutes. Angel and Wesley had reported what had happened with Tramore; and Lorne and Gunn had introduced Dylan, who had quickly retold his story. They had then made their preparations for action.

With only a few minutes to go until they left Wesley stopped by Fred's room. He sat at her bedside and held her hand. On his right wrist was a golden amulet. It was a protection charm, a rather rushed attempt to defend against Mr White's powers. They hoped that the amulets would take the edge off any mystical attack against them.

"We're going to get the solution now," Wesley said softly. "We're going to fight for you. I promise you we will get you back."

Fred did not respond in any way. Slowly but surely the bullet continued it's shift back into our plain of existence, getting ever closer to killing her.

Wesley stood and just before he left the room he took one last glance at her.

--------------------------

Angel, Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, Dylan and a four man tactical team, led by the man Wes knew as Alpha-One from the raid on Rex's lair, were flying in a helicopter to the location indicated by the tracking device. They were headed to a warehouse down by the docks that was registered to a company called "An Infinitely Beautiful World".

Dylan was filled with a sense of unreality. This night was so radically unusual. Here he was riding in a helicopter racing to stop an insane madman from carrying out an evil scheme. Forty-eight hours ago he had been working for an eccentric man making some strange machine, and he had been so very happy in the knowledge that he and Michelle would be together forever and ever.

But now Michelle was dead.

And that eccentric man needed to be stopped.

--------------------------

Mr White paused from his work and took a moment to look at his pocket watch. It was approaching eleven seventeen. He put the watch away and gazed upon his marvelous creation. The central panel was still open. The sphere he had picked up from Tramore had almost been fully installed. Once it was in the device would be complete. He would waste no time and activate it immediately when it was finished. He was eager to usher in his new age.

He felt great pride. His accomplishment was truly magnificent. Mr White had to admit to himself that he felt rather excited about the wonderful moment that was mere minutes away.

Mr White leaned in, carefully adjusting the arrangement of machinery, tubes, crystals and various ingredients (such as blood and powdered herbs). It was a glorious fusion of technology and magic. Essentially the device's purpose was to be able to repeatedly perform a very powerful piece of magic.

Mr White whispered an incantation and waved his hand at a small blue crystal. It flashed and then turned green.

He smiled. He gently shifted the positioning of the sphere. Yes. So close now. From a workbench a meter or so to left of the device (which had a number of open books on it) he picked up a thin book, where a number of the spells he had been using had come from. Mr White He aimed his dragon's head cane at the sphere and began to read aloud from the book. The language sounded like gibberish nonsense.

More crystals within the device glowed.

After a few minutes it was done. With a flash and crackle of dark blue the sphere came to life. The sphere spun, faster and faster, pulsing with the dark blue. The device hummed quietly, deep and rumbling, like an idling vintage automobile.

"So beautiful," Mr White whispered, his face bathed in the light from the open panel. He was looking at the end of all human suffering. He was looking at an incredible future, the limitless potential of humanity being fulfilled.

Suddenly there came a loud crashing, the sound of the main doors to the warehouse bursting open. Mr White snapped out of his moment.

Angel led the group into the warehouse and down the wide central passage between the rows of shipping containers that filled the warehouse. They headed straight for Mr White and his device.

"Can I help you?" Mr White inquired politely.

"Shut that thing down!" Angel commanded. They stopped a short distance from him. The tactical team aimed their weapons at the man dressed all in white.

"I see," Mr White sighed. His eyes settled upon one of the intruders. "Dylan isn't it?"

Dylan could hardly contain his rage, his pure hatred for this murderer; the man who had killed his love. "We're here to stop you," Dylan declared.

"Michelle not with you?" Mr White asked in a calm tone.

"You!" Dylan roared and lunged forward.

Lorne and Gunn grabbed him, holding Dylan back. "No, don't," Lorne urged.

"Very wise," Mr White smiled to Lorne. "I welcome you all to the most glorious moment in all of human history."

"I don't think so," Angel stepped forward. He was armed with a sword.

"Do you not see?" Mr White said. "This should be a time of great rejoicing. Do you not realize that on this day I will end the suffering of millions of people. Then I will end all human suffering, I will purge the world of evil and elevate humanity beyond our wildest dreams. He spoke with deep passion and firm conviction. There were a few moments of silence.

"Shut it down, or we _will_ shut it down." Angel was unwavering.

Mr White seemed saddened. "No matter vampire, your kind will not be blessed with my gift to humanity." Mr White looked to the humans among the group. "Do none of you share my vision of a beautiful world?" He met the eyes of each of the determined humans before him, and then he looked at the floor, shaking his head. When he looked up the sadness was gone, replaced by renewed resolve. This was not a rash action, he had considered this carefully. "You will not keep this world ugly and chaotic. Beautiful order will prevail."

Angel wasn't interested in a philosophical debate. He was about to issue a final challenge, but someone else spoke first.

"Show me."

Everyone looked at Wesley, apart from the tactical team, who remained completely focused on their aim.

"Show me," Wesley repeated and stepped forward.

"Wes..." Angel raised his hand, motioning for him to remain with the group.

Wesley ignored Angel. "I want to see the great machine." He walked closer.

Mr White briefly entertained the possibility that this man might have been persuaded. But he was no fool. He knew that this was most likely a feigned interest, part of some silly plot to stop the great moment. He let the man approach anyway. There was nothing that he could do.

"It is certainly impressive." Wesley cast an appreciative eye on the device. He noticed the texts on the workbench. "This must have taken years to design and build."

"It did," Mr White nodded. "Many years. There is no stopping it." He was so very proud of what he had done.

Wes looked into the open panel. "Such attention to detail," he commented.

"Now go back to your friends." Mr White pointed over to Angel and the others. "And witness the beginning of humanity's evolution to true greatness."

Wesley did as Mr White asked. The man radiated power and confidence, it was for this reason that no one was rushing to make any aggressive moves.

Angel met Wesley's gaze, they both had stony expressions. Angel turned his attention back to Mr White. "You can just walk away. We don't have to resort to violence."

"I have no desire for violence, but if you force my hand..." Mr White flashed them a threatening grin and tightened his hold on his cane.

He gestured at the device and the panel closed.

"Fire," Angel ordered.

The four tactical squad members pulled their triggers.

Bullets flew straight for Mr White. He tapped the base of his cane on the concrete floor. The air around him flashed as the bullets impacted upon a shimmering shield.

They continued firing until their guns clicked empty. Quickly they ejected the empty magazines, however before they could load new ones Mr White pointed at them. He flicked the index finger of his right had off his thumb, sending the four men went flying through the air in quick succession, either to a hard landing on the floor or to a collision with one of the containers.

"Firearms are so very uncivilized," Mr White tutted.

Dylan made another move, this time Wesley stepped in front of him. "No," Wesley said and then whispered something. Dylan shook his head and barged passed Wesley.

"Incendrio!" Dylan yelled. A ball of flame flew from his hand.

Mr White snatched it out of the air and hurled it right back at Dylan.

Angel threw himself at Dylan, sending them both tumbling to the floor as the fireball sailed overhead and exploded against a container.

Mr White laughed.

Gunn, Lorne and Wesley rushed forward, hoping to catch Mr White off-guard.

Mr White however was perfectly prepared. From the cane flew a triple forked bolt of green energy that struck the three of them on the chest. Instantly they collapsed, yelling in pain.

Angel scrambled to his feet, charging at the enemy, his features shifting to vampire form. Mr White spun, he was smiling slightly as if amused by their hopeless efforts. The dragon's mouth flashed red, just as it had when he dusted the vampire Derek earlier that evening.

Angel was knocked out of the air, sword spinning off across the warehouse. He was saved only by the amulet that he was wearing on his wrist, which offered him a measure of defense against the mystical attack. Instead of combusting he slammed into the side of a container, smoke rising from his chest. There was a large hole in his shirt where he had been hit, the skin was red and charred with third degree burns.

"Feeble." Mr White waved a dismissive gesture in their general direction. He turned to his device and grinned.

Angel sat up, he knew that he was helpless to stop Mr White, the guy was just too damn powerful and they didn't have the time to organize an effective assault.

Wes, Dylan, Gunn and Lorne got to their feet. The Wolfram and Hart tactical team were also stirring.

Dylan felt like he had failed Michelle by failing to beat Mr White. His basic mystical skills were nothing compared to Mr White's powers.

Angel suddenly looked over at Wesley, his head tilted to one side.

Wesley's lips were moving, speaking in a quiet, inaudible whisper.

Angel nodded.

Mr White closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time. He opened his eyes, concentrating on the device. From the cane dark blue energy arced out to the device.

Inside the device the sphere accelerated in its spinning, the humming sound got louder and louder.

Mr White grinned. It was done. In a few seconds the device would activate and cast its city-wide spell.

Wesley eyed the books on the workbench. He was convinced that they were the key to saving Fred, to restoring her mind. He could see them, the solution to the problem, but he couldn't get them. It was looking rather likely that he would never get them.

"We have to do something!" Gunn yelled over the noise of the device. "We can't just watch him do this!"

Wesley shot Gunn a look. There was nothing they could do, if they attacked Mr White he would just knock them down again, or possibly kill them.

"No!" Dylan was determined not to just give up like this. He started for Mr White.

But it was too late.

The device unleashed an immense pulse of dark blue energy.

--------------------------

The pulse flashed out across the city of Los Angeles.

Tobey Macy was watching television. The pulse washed over him.

His eyes glowed with cracking dark blue energy, as did the eyes of his wife.

Tobey's savior, the costumed man who called himself the Dark Avenger was standing on a rooftop, contemplating his mission and thinking of the many people he was going to save.

And then the thoughts were gone; his eyes glowed.

Another man, Daniel Forrest, reflected upon the path that he now walked. As he lay on his bed he pictured the face of the homeless man he had murdered to earn his place in the service of Mal'Klan.

He was relieved of his burden by Mr White's device.

Daniel's sister, Imogen, was reading a book. Right in the middle of a very important plot point her eyes flashed dark blue, and she stopped reading.

He was aware that something was about to happen. Looking out of the window of his lavish hotel room Adrian Wallace sipped from his glass of Laphroaig whiskey.

Before he had an opportunity to erect any mystical defenses he too fell victim to the pulse.

As did Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Charles Gunn, Dylan Stewart, Alpha-One and his colleagues. As did all of the over four million human inhabitants of the city of Los Angeles.

And of course being the center of it all Mr White showed the most dramatic effects. His entire body now crackled with the dark blue energy.

Angel and Lorne however, being not human, remained blissfully untouched.

Angel leapt to his feet as soon as the device activated.

"Angel?" Lorne looked round at the humans.

"Grab his cane. Quickly, there isn't much time." Angel ran at his full speed to the device.

Wesley's words had been inaudible to everyone but him_ "I think it's a two stage spell. If the device is destroyed before the second stage, the whole thing might fail. Going for the sphere inside might be the best bet. Grab his cane too, we'll need it. It's our only shot."_

Mr White had suddenly become connected to the minds of over four million people. It was an incredible and overwhelming experience. He knew that in moments the second stage would engage and all the waste, the minds of all those chaotic and pointlessly individual people, would be erased forever and he would have more mental capacity than any being that had ever lived on this Earth. His head now though was full horrific chaos. It was his ultimate nightmare. Going through this ordeal was his final sacrifice for the greater good. Billions of thoughts and flashes of meaningless memories flooded his ordered mind. He screamed at the horror of all that mess.

Angel tore open the panel. The sphere was spinning at thousands of revolutions per second. Wes had said destroy the sphere. There was only one thing he could do; there was no choice, no time for anything else.

Angel thrust his right hand into the device. A quick, powerful punch. In and out.

In the brief moment of impact the skin on his knuckles and fingers was stripped, swiftly accompanied by all the muscle and tissue of his fist. The bones in his hand splintered and shattered.

Angel's entire right hand was obliterated by the spinning sphere. He had done enough though. The sphere moved out of its place within the complex device.

Angel's face contorted with agony as he jerked his arm out. At his wrist was a bloody mess of dangling flesh and jagged bone. He staggered back and fell to the floor.

The whole movement had taken less than a second.

The device sparked, a burst of sparks erupted from the open panel.

Lorne was still running over. He arrived at the scene just as Mr White ceased to crackle with energy as the spell collapsed. Lorne grabbed the cane while Mr White tumbled to the floor, unconscious, landing beside Angel.

--------------------------

All across the city the minds of everyone resumed at the exact moment of thought that they had left on.

Many experienced a strange feeling akin to a record player needle skipping a few seconds of a track. Only in this case the track was their thoughts.

--------------------------

Wesley sighed in relief when he saw the scene before him. He had been right. His look at the device and the books, even though it had been brief, had been enough to allow him to recognize many of the components and make an educated guess. It had been their only hope. An educated guess that he had taken as one ditch effort for Fred.

The device was making decidedly unhappy noises, grumbling and whining. Sparks of energy of all sorts of colors were surging over it.

"We have to get out of here!" Wesley suspected that the device would explode, all that immense power had to be unleashed somehow.

Lorne helped Angel to his feet. Angel was clutching his stump to his chest, the pain was excruciating.

Alpha-One organized his men for retreat, ordering one to run and get the helicopter ready for take off.

Wesley and Gunn raced over: Gunn to help Lorne with Angel, Wes to grab the texts from the workbench.

A brilliant burst of yellow flashed across the room, striking one of the men of the tactical team, vaporizing him instantly.

"Go!" Wesley yelled to everyone. Gibson and his men ran out as Gunn, Lorne and Angel made their dash for the exit.

Wesley was struggling to carry all the books, quickly as he could he started for the escape. One of the books fell, and landed at Dylan's feet. Dylan too had rushed over and was standing, looking at Mr White who was still lying on the floor. Dylan bent to pick up the book, and his eyes fell upon the holster at Wesley's hip. He paused.

"Come on! We have to go!" Wesley said urgently. At any moment the device could explode, and he had no idea how big the explosion could be. Dylan scooped up the book and at the same time snatched Wesley's pistol.

Wesley, his arms full, could do nothing to stop the man. "There's no time!" Wesley exclaimed.

Dylan ignored him and went to stand over Mr White.

Wesley had to stay, he needed the book that Dylan was holding, for all he knew it could be the book that contained the vital information that would save Fred.

The device crackled and another bolt flew off, this one purple. It hit a container at the back of the warehouse, causing it to explode spectacularly.

Mr White's eyes fluttered open. He saw the young man standing over him, aiming a gun at his face. Mr White knew that his beautiful plan had been ruined. His heart broke for the disorder that the world was forever condemned to suffer.

"This is for Michelle," Dylan said coldly.

Mr White's eyes were full of despair and sorrow. "But I..."

Bang!

A single shot rang out.

A flash of flame licked the air.

The gun was a normal gun. The bullet was a normal bullet.

The bullet punched through Mr White's skull and tore through his brain. Blood and grey matter splattered on the floor.

--------------------------

The helicopter took off.

Dylan looked out of the window at the warehouse as it began to shrink away.

He felt no different now than before he had shot Mr White. Michelle was still dead and his future was still lost.

Suddenly the warehouse exploded. The explosion was a massive blast of both normal and dark blue flames that ripped the entire warehouse apart. The helicopter shuddered, buffeted by the force of the blast.

Wesley was already leafing through the books, searching for the answers that he had desperately sought since the moment the mystical bullet had struck down Fred.

Angel was relieved that it was over, that Mr White's threat to the city had been ended. He hoped that the books Wesley had retrieved would save Fred; they were the end of the line, the one and only shot they had at saving her. He was in a great deal of pain and was looking forward to a trip to the Wolfram and Hart infirmary.

The helicopter flew at full speed for the Wolfram and Hart building. It wasn't over yet. Fred still could be lost to them forever.

--------------------------

Over an hour later, Dr Kent Hartley was scrubbing in for surgery. Time was short. Very short. Sometime within the next hour and a half the bullet would become fully solid again and any hopes of Winifred Burkle making a recovery would vanish.

In his mind he pictured every stage of the procedure.

Wesley had just completed the restoration of her mind, it had been a complex, but hurriedly performed piece of magic, Mr White's cane had indeed been needed in order to do it. How much of a success it had been would only be revealed when she woke up, however the scanner indicated that her brain activity was returning to normal. That wasn't a definitive sign though; the brain is a complex organ. There was no telling until she was conscious if there had been any lasting damage from the draining of her mind, or if the spell to restore it had worked as intended.

But Hartley could do nothing about that area. All he could do was perform the surgery and remove the bullet.

He rinsed his hands, dried them and put on a pair of sterile surgical gloves. He looked at himself in the mirror, taking deep calming breaths. He knew he could do this; it would be far from easy, but he would succeed.

Hartley turned to the right where a small window revealed the operating theater. There she was. Fred was on the operating table, beside her was the large piece of equipment provided by the science department that would allow him to operate on the sightly out of phase bullet.

So this was it. No more time to prepare.

It was time to do the surgery.


	6. Envoi

**ENVOI**

Wesley rubbed his tired eyes and once more looked at his watch. It was after two in the morning, after the deadline that Dr Hartley had suggested for the bullet becoming solid. It was likely that the surgery would be in it's final stages, otherwise Fred would be in very very serious trouble.

Wesley, Angel, Gunn and Lorne were in a small waiting area in the Wolfram and Hart infirmary, the same place they had waited for news of Fred's condition after she had been shot almost thirty hours ago. They were all tired, it had been one of the longest, hardest days of their lives. Now all they could do was wait and see if their efforts had been enough to save one of their family.

Angel's arm was bound in bandages and a sling. Physically he was in pretty bad condition, the injuries from the crash were still healing; with the arm injury too he was in desperate need of some time off. He hoped that there would be nothing in the next few days that would require his attention, and nothing major for a week or more. In this one day he had suffered some of the worst injuries of his long long unlife.

The four of them waited in silence.

Finally Dr Hartley entered the waiting area, still in his surgical greens. He looked drained. "The bullet has been successfully removed," he said. The four released the breaths they had been holding. "From a surgical point of view the procedure went exactly to plan, it was pretty close though, it was removed just in time." Hartley gave them a moment to take it in. "She's not out of the woods yet though, she had just had major surgery, and there are the usual post-op risks. There is also no way to tell yet if her mind has been fully restored. We'll have to wait until she wakes."

"When will that be?" Wesley asked.

"Tomorrow morning at the earliest. I suggest that the four of you get some rest, all we can do now is wait and see." The four nodded. "Angel, I'd like to take another look at your arm, and get you plenty of blood."

--------------------------

At ten in the morning, after sleeping, Dr Hartley went in to check on his patient. He found Gunn, Angel, Lorne and Wesley fast asleep, on chairs in Fred's room. Angel almost sitting up straight in his chair, unmoving, he looked dead.

Gunn had, seemingly, fallen off his chair and was lying on his side on the floor, snoring gently

Lorne was slouched forward on his chair, "No, not the pink one," he murmured.

Wesley was right beside Fred, sitting on his chair his head was resting on the bed.

As quietly as he could Dr Hartley checked on Fred, and then left them to their dreams.

--------------------------

"He's got a gun, move!" Fred yelled. She saw Ritchie Evans glance back, his eyes widened in fear and he froze. Fred acted on pure instinct. The man was in danger of being shot. She threw herself at him, hoping to get them both down and out of the path of the bullet.

She heard the bang.

And then the world was falling away from her. Fred felt a spike of pain and she knew she had been hit. As she hit the ground the darkness consumed her.

And then there was light...

Winifred Burkle's eyes fluttered open. _I was shot._ The thought was terrifying. She looked up at the white ceiling and wondered if she was dead. _I was shot in the head. I have to be dead,_ she reasoned.

She had an image of Wesley talking to her and then she remembered: the mystical bullet, the memories, her fight for her existence. Fred knew that she had lost that fight.

Fred had a killer headache.

She moved and looked around. She saw Angel, Gunn, Lorne and Wesley. She knew that they had fought for her, that they had saved her. Fred slowly moved her hand and touched Wesley's forehead, making sure that he was real.

He stirred and suddenly sat up. He looked right at her. Wesley rubbed his eyes, and considered pitching himself to make sure it wasn't another dream. Suddenly he was frightened that maybe it hadn't worked, that maybe this wasn't really Fred.

They looked into each other's eyes.

"Hi Wesley," Fred said softly, with a smile.

Wesley saw it in her eyes; he knew that she was going to be okay.

"Hello Fred."

AUTHORS NOTE: As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this installment.

Please take the time to review, I'm happy to return the favor. Constructive criticism will really help me make this the best story that I can.

Episode Five will be up fairly soon, just undergoing final tweaks :)

5x05: "Witness Protection": When Gunn is assigned a case in another dimension the responsibility of protecting the key witness falls to Jack Gibson, head of Wolfram and Hart Security. As Gunn and the witness head to court in another world an assassin is on the hunt, determined to prevent the witness from testifying.


End file.
